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THE    LAND    OF    HEATHER 


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Copyright,  igos,  J  ^^  ^ 

by  The  Afacmillan  Company 


to 


Electrotyped 
and 

Printed 
at  the 

Norwood  Press, 
Norwood,  Mass., 
September,  rgoj 


O,  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

'^7-^  is    hereby    made    to    The 

^      'Z  Outlooky    The    Interior, 

Q^     M  Good     Housekeepings     The 


Congregationalisty  The 
Pilgrim,  The  Era,  The 
Household-Ledger,  and  The 
Springfield  Republican,  in 
which  periodicals  several  of 
the  chapters  included  in  this 
volume  were  first  published. 


Contents 


Chapter 

I.     A  Rural  Hamlet  . 
Village  Happenings 
The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk 
IV.     An  Excursion 
V.      Historic  Ground  . 
Thrums 

A  Highland  Glen 
VIII.      Lochs  and  Bens    , 
IX.     The  Isle  of  Mull 
X.      The  Crofters  of  Skye 
XI.      A  Country  School 
XII.      The  Sabbath  and  the  Kirks 

XIII.  A  Burns  Pilgrimage 

XIV.  A  Glimpse  of  Galloway 


II. 
III. 


VI. 
VII. 


Page 

I 

36 
56 

86 
100 
124 
136 
149 
172 
186 
210 
222 

237 
246 


A  Chat  on  the  Highway 


List  of  Illustrations 


Page 


Tarn  o'  Shanter's  Kirk 

Frontispiece 

A  Chat  on  the  Highway  .... 

. 

vii 

Setting  up  Blocks  of  Peat  to  Dry 

. 

X 

His  Favorite  Grandchild   .          .          .          .          . 

. 

I 

Threshold  Gossip 

facing 

3 

A  Favorite  Loitering  Place 

7 

On  the  Moorland    ...... 

lO 

A  Schoolroom  Corner  in  Drumtochty  College 

H 

Kathie  scrubs  the  Front  Walk     .          .          .          . 

17 

"A  Wall  of  Crockery'* 

21 

Village  Bairns          ...... 

28 

Logic  Ruin    ....... 

32 

Conductmg  her  Coo  to  Pasture  . 

*          .          • 

35 

Vlll 


List  of  Illustrations 


Page 

Cuddling  for  Trout           .          .          .          .          . 

. 

36 

A  Village  Well 

facing 

39 

Washing  by  the  Burnside  . 

it 

42 

The  Laddies  playing  **  Links  "  i 

n  the  Schoolyard  . 

it 

49 

Quoits  —  a  Dispute 

it 

51 

Gypsies          .... 

if 

53 

Spreading  Blankets  after  the  Was 

h        .          .          . 

. 

55 

A  Servant  Lassie 

. 

56 

Neighbors       .          .          •          • 

facing 

60 

Women  Workers     . 

a 

62 

An  Upland  Pasture 

f( 

64 

Haymaking    .          .          .          , 

€( 

72 

Feeding  the  Pet  Lamb 

it 

83 

A  Hayrake     . 

, 

85 

Carrying  Peat  out  of  the  Bog 

. 

86 

Visiting 

facing 

88 

By  the  Fireside 

it 

94 

A  Meeting  in  the  Lane     . 

ft 

97 

**Puttin*  oot  the  Dung" 

. 

99 

Entrance  to  a  Close 

. 

100 

Edinburgh 

facing 

112 

Melrose  Abbey 

it 

115 

Queen  Mary's  Prison  on  an  Isle 

of  Lochleven 

•           •          • 

123 

Palaulays 

. 

124 

In  the  Tenements    . 

facing 

126 

Spinning  a  **  Peerie** 

ft 

133 

List  of  Illustrations 


IX 


Page 

The  Window  in  Thrums  House           ..... 

135 

Returning  from  Market 

. 

136 

The  Peat-stack  in  the  Yard 

facing 

140 

Stirring  up  the  Fire  . 

(( 

145 

"  A  Tattie  Dooly  " 

it 

H7 

Ruins  of  a  Cotter's  Home 

. 

148 

Water  from  the  Well 

. 

149 

A  Mountain  Stream 

facing 

151 

Loch  Katrine  and  Ben  Venue 

i( 

154 

A  Coach  to  Lomond 

f( 

158 

Highland  Pipers 

ct 

160 

Kilchurn  Castle  on  Loch  Awe    , 

ft 

163 

Loch  Lomond  and  Ben  Lomond 

. 

171 

A  Cottager  piling  Peat 

. 

172 

Churning 

facing 

174 

A  Kitchen  Corner   . 

(( 

181 

An  Old  Farmhouse 

, 

185 

A  Fire  on  the  Floor 

. 

186 

Skye  Fishing-boats  . 

facing 

188 

Feeding  the  Dog 

t( 

195 

A  Rider 

i< 

200 

Resting  on  a  Dyke  . 

€< 

206 

A  Highland  Cow    . 

, 

209 

A  Bird's-nest  in  the  Hedge 

. 

210 

The  School  at  Work 

facing 

216 

"A  Wee  Brig  ower  a  Bur 

nie" 

» 

221 

List  of  Illustrations 


A  Garden  Rose 

An  Exchange  of  SnufF 

Sunday  Afternoon    . 

A  Church  in  a  Northern  Glen 

A  Mess  for  the  Pigs 

Birthplace  of  Robert  Burns 

The  Brig  o'  Doon  . 

«*  The  Twa  Brigs  o'  Ayr  " 

A  Stone-breaker 

The  Postman 

Woodland  Hyacinths 

The  Wall  of  Severus 

A  Castle  of  the  Black  Douglas 


facing 


facing 


Page 
222 
231 

236 

241 

243 

.        245 

246 

facing     248 

254 

"  256 

.  .      258 


Setting  up  Blocks  of  Peat  to  Dry 


Introductory  Note 

Heather  is  not  peculiarly  Scotch.  It  grows  on 
the  moors  and  waste  lands  of  all  parts  of  Britain  and 
is  found  in  most  sections  of  the  continent  of  Europe. 
But  in  Scotland  it  is  omnipresent  to  an  unusual  de- 
gree, and,  besides,  it  has  become  so  closely  associated 
in  literature,  both  of  fact  and  of  fiction,  with  this 
particular  country  as  to  have  acquired  many  synony- 
mous attributes.  The  flowers  are  of  a  lilac-rose  color, 
but  vary  much  in  depth  of  tint,  thus  adding  materially 
to  the  beauty  of  the  wilds  which  they  delight  to  in- 
habit. The  heather  is  in  its  glory  in  late  August  and 
early  September,  and  one  who  sees  it  then  would  be 
apt  to  forget  that  it  had  any  other  mission  than  to 
delight  the  eye ;  yet  it  is  not  without  its  utilitarian 
aspect  as  well.  The  domestic  bees  find  their  richest 
feast  of  the  year  in  its  blossoms ;  the  plants  contribute 
much  to  the  formation  of  peat ;  the  shrubby  growth 
makes  admirable  cover  for  the  game  birds,  and  is 
often  used  for  thatching  cottages,  or  is  tied  to  handles 
for  brooms  and  in  bunches  for  scrubbing  brushes ; 
and  still  other  uses  might  be  mentioned. 


xii  Introductory  Note 

Naturally  one  would  expect  the  heather  to  be  the 
Scotch  national  flower,  and  perhaps  it  might  have 
been  had  not  a  chance  incident  conferred  the  distinc- 
tion on  the  thistle.  History  says  this  choice  was  due 
to  James  III,  who  took  the  thistle  to  illustrate  his 
royal  motto,  "In  Defence";  but  according  to  tradi- 
tion the  preference  given  the  thistle  dates  back  to 
the  time  when  the  Norsemen  ravaged  all  the  shores 
of  northern  Europe.  On  one  occasion,  in  the  dead 
of  night,  an  invading  Norse  force  approached  unper- 
ceived  the  camp  of  the  Scots  who  had  gathered  to 
oppose  them.  But  while  the  Norsemen  paused  to 
ascertain  the  undefended  points  of  the  camp  they  pro- 
posed to  assault,  one  of  their  spies  stepped  on  a 
thistle,  and  the  sudden  pain  brought  forth  a  violent 
oath.  This  aroused  the  Scots,  and  they  hastened  to 
attack  the  invaders,  gained  a  complete  victory,  and 
afterward  adopted  the  plant  which  had  been  the 
means  of  delivery  as  their  emblem.  The  thistle's 
thorny  vigor  perhaps  very  well  expressed  the  Scotch 
character  in  those  long-gone  fighting  days,  but  now 
the  hardiness  and  warm  bloom  of  the  heather,  to  my 
mind,  indicate  more  exactly  the  racial  individuality. 

CLIFTON  JOHNSON. 


THE    LAND    OF    HEATHER 


The   Land  of  Heather 


A    RURAL    HAMLET 


His  Favorite  Grandchild 


IN  southern 
England  the 
hawthorn 
hedges  had  shed 
their  petals  and 
taken  on  their 
summer  greenness ; 
but  when  I  con- 
tinued northward 
and  crossed  the 
vague  boundary 
line  which  sepa- 
rates the  two  an- 
cient kingdoms  of 
the  island,  the 
hawthorn  was  in 
full  bloom.  This 
was  reassuring,  for 
I    had    been    half 


2  The  Land  of  Heather 

afraid  I  was  too  late  to  see  the  Scotch  spring  at  its 
best ;  and  the  unexpectedness  of  the  transition  made 
these  northern  hedgerows,  with  their  white  flower-clus- 
ters and  their  delicate  emerald  leafage,  seem  doubly 
beautiful. 

That  I  might  lose  nothing  of  Nature's  charm  in  its 
early  unfoldings  of  buds  and  greenery,  I  did  not  pause 
in  any  of  the  large  towns,  but  kept  on  until  I  reached 
the  secluded  hamlet  of  Drumtochty,  among  the  hills  a 
few  miles  beyond  Perth.  There  I  made  my  home  for 
several  weeks  in  the  cottage  of  the  village  shoemaker. 

A  wide-spreading  farm  and  grazing  district  lay  round 
about,  and  the  Highlands  were  not  far  distant.  Indeed, 
their  outlying  bulwarks  were  always  in  sight,  rising  in 
blue  ridges  that  cut  ragged  lines  into  the  sky  along 
the  north.  Drumtochty,  or  "  the  clachan,"  as  it  was 
familiarly  called  by  the  natives,  was  the  central  vil- 
lage of  the  region.  It  was  situated  on  a  long  slope, 
or  "  strath,"  that  swept  gently  downward  to  where  a 
sudden  declivity  marked  the  verge  of  a  winding,  half- 
wooded  ravine,  in  the  depths  of  which  flowed  a  small 
river. 

Aside  from  the  clachan  on  the  strath,  habitations 
were  much  scattered.  They  consisted  mostly  of  neigh- 
borless  farmhouses,  and  a  few  lonely  shepherds'  cot- 
tages on  the  borders  of  the  moors.  In  the  midst  of 
an  imposing  grove   a   mile  or  two  from   the  village 


.^    h 


■     ":\       '.         , 

"iVih^lB 

-I 

4M 

''m 

A  Rural  Hamlet  3 

stood  the  big  decayed  mansion  of  Logie  House, 
reminiscent  of  days  not  very  remote,  when  the  district 
had  its  own  local  lairds  ;  but  at  present  resident  gentry 
were  entirely  lacking.  There  was,  however,  a  shooting- 
lodge,  at  the  head  of  a  wild  ravine  up  toward  the  hills, 
to  which  the  aristocracy  resorted  in  the  season  ;  and  I 
ought  to  mention  Trinity  College,  on  a  high  terrace,  in 
plain  sight  from  the  clachan,  just  over  the  river,  its 
brown  walls  and  pinnacles  rising  above  its  environing 
trees,  Hke  some  ancient  castle.  The  college  clock  could 
be  plainly  heard  when  it  tolled  the  hours,  and  the  col- 
lege bells  made  pleasant  music  chiming  for  evening 
service.  But  it  was  only  by  sight  and  sound  that 
Trinity  College  had  any  connection  with  the  life  of  the 
people  who  dwelt  in  its  vicinity  ;  for  while  they  were 
strenuous  Presbyterians,  the  school  was  strictly  Epis- 
copal, and  the  pupils  all  came  from  a  distance. 

The  low  stone  houses  of  the  clachan  were  built  in 
two  parallel  lines.  One  row  fronted  on  the  east  and 
west  highway.  The  other  was  behind  the  first,  up  the  hill 
a  few  rods.  The  homes  on  the  foremost  row  were  just 
enough  removed  from  the  road  to  give  space  before  each 
for  a  narrow  plot  of  earth  that  the  householders  dug 
over  with  every  return  of  spring  and  set  out  to  flowers. 
Rose  bushes  in  abundance  clambered  up  about  the  win- 
dows and  doorways,  and  several  of  the  cottages  had  a 
pair  of  ornamental  yew  trees  so  trimmed  and  trained 


4  The  Land  of  Heather 

as  to  arch  the  gate  in  the  stone  wall  or  picket  fence 
which  separated  the  flower-plots  from  the  street.  The 
people  took  great  pride  in  their  dooryard  plants,  and 
in  all  such  adjuncts  of  the  house-fronts  as  were  con- 
stantly in  the  eyes  of  the  critical  public.  The  flowers 
were  more  especially  the  care  of  the  women,  but  it  was 
not  uncommon  to  find  the  children  and  the  men  work- 
ing among  them  ;  and  there  was  "  Auld  Robbie  Rober'- 
son,"  now  over  eighty  and  living  all  alone,  who  kept 
the  flower-beds  that  bordered  his  front  walk  as  tidy 
as  anybody.  I  stopped  to  speak  with  Auld  Robbie 
one  day  while  he  was  in  his  garden,  pulling  some 
grass  out  of  a  bunch  of  columbines  —  "Auld  ladies* 
mutches  "  (caps),  he  called  them.  He  was  glad  to  tell 
me  about  his  plants  and  blossoms,  and  when  I  started 
to  go  he  picked  a  rose  and  presented  it  to  me,  first 
carefully  removing  all  the  leaves  from  the  stem,  that 
its  beauty  might  be  the  more  apparent. 

The  houses  on  the  back  row  of  the  clachan  were 
but  little  exposed  to  public  view,  and  the  approaches 
to  them  were  often  carelessly  unkempt.  The  neat 
paths  and  flower-beds  characteristic  of  the  fronts  of  the 
more  prominent  row  were  here  lacking.  Grime  and 
disorder  had  their  own  way.  Perhaps  this  was  because 
these  houses  had  no  back  doors ;  for  their  rear  walls 
bordered  a  little  lane  and  were  wholly  blank,  save  for 
now  and  then  a  diminutive  window.     Some  place  for 


A  Rural  Hamlet  5 

tubs,  old  rags,  and  rubbish  was  a  necessity,  and  as  the 
front  door  was  the  only  entrance,  odds  and  ends 
naturally  gathered  there. 

Between  the  two  rows  of  houses  the  land  was 
checkered  with  little  square  gardens,  and  I  found  these 
at  the  time  of  my  arrival  crowded  full  of  green,  newly 
started  vegetables.  In  some  convenient  nook  of  the 
gardens,  next  the  hedges  that  enclosed  them,  was  often 
a  hive  or  two  of  bees.  It  was  swarming- time,  and 
almost  any  warm  midday  an  incipient  migration  was 
liable  to  be  discovered.  Immediately  arose  a  great 
commotion  of  noise  and  shoutings  intended  to  dis- 
tract the  bees;  and  there  was  an  excited  running  hither 
and  thither  to  borrow  a  hive  and  get  a  certain  ancient 
of  the  village,  who  was  a  bee  expert,  to  help  settle 
the  swarm  in  its  new  home. 

This  bee  expert,  who  was  commonly  spoken  of  as 
"The  Auld  Lad,"  comes  hobbling  into  the  garden 
where  the  bees,  supposedly  by  virtue  of  the  racket 
made,  have  delayed  their  flight  and  suspended  them- 
selves in  a  brown  branch  on  a  gooseberry  bush  or 
some  other  garden  shrub.  All  the  women  and  chil- 
dren of  the  vicinity  gather  at  a  safe  distance  and  look 
on  while  the  Auld  Lad  with  apparent  unconcern  sets 
some  stools  covered  with  white  cloths  near  the  swarm. 
Then  he  puts  the  hive  on  the  cloths  and  brushes  the 
bees  into  it  as  if  they  were  so  much  chaff.     His  face 


6  The  Land  of  Heather 

is  unprotected  and  his  hands  bare,  and  the  crowd  re- 
gard him  as  a  sort  of  wizard  in  his  dealings  with  the 
hot-handed  insects  ;  but  he  says  it  is  nothing  —  bees 
do  not  care  to  sting  at  such  a  time. 

Drumtochty  had  two  shops.  Each  occupied  one 
room  in  the  owner's  dwelling.  The  post-office  was  in 
the  larger  shop,  but  about  all  that  was  needful  for 
official  purposes  was  a  desk,  as  the  mail  was  de- 
livered at  the  houses  twice  a  day.  Any  community 
in  Britain  that  receives  an  average  of  fifty  letters  a 
week  is  entitled  to  free  delivery,  and  the  people  of  the 
Drumtochty  district  were  not  so  few  or  seclusive  but 
that  they  did  much  more  postal  business  than  this 
minimum.  The  chief  daily  mail  arrived  at  twelve, 
when  a  stout,  heavy-shoed  man  in  uniform  would 
come  tramping  in  from  the  west  with  a  brown  bag 
strapped  over  his  shoulder  and  a  cane  in  his  hand. 
He  enters  the  post-office  and  the  mail  is  emptied  from 
his  bag  and  sorted  on  the  little  counter.  The  post- 
master and  all  his  family  join  in  this  task,  and  it  is 
soon  finished,  and  "  Posty "  with  a  new  load  goes 
trudging  in  his  steady  swing  down  the  road.  At  the 
same  time  the  postmaster's  daughter  shoulders  a 
smaller  bag,  dons  her  straw  hat,  and  starts  out  to  dis- 
tribute the  mail  through  the  clachan  and  for  a  mile 
and  a  half  west  among  the  farmers. 

The  sign  over  the  door  of  the  second  of  the  village 


A  Favorite   Loitering   Place 


A  Rural  Hamlet  7 

shops  read  thus  :  "  R.  Wallace,  General  Grocer,  li- 
censed to  sell  tea,  tobacco,  and  snufF."  The  room  in 
which  these  articles,  together  with  "  sweeties"  and  other 
small  wares,  were  sold  was  tiny  and  much  crowded. 
Near  the  door  was  a  little  counter  with  a  pair  of  scales 
on  it,  and  behind  this  counter  presided  Mrs.  Wallace, 
the  proprietor  of  the  shop.  She  was  a  short,  uneasy- 
looking  body  with  a  sharp  tongue,  and  a  long  story  of 
trials  and  wrongs  and  complaints  which  she  retailed 
with  the  goods  from  her  shelves  to  every  customer. 
She  had  a  remarkable  propensity  for  keeping  in  hostili- 
ties with  her  neighbors,  but  always  felt  herself  to  be 
the  innocent  and  injured  party  ;  and  to  any  person  who 
would  listen  she  discoursed  endlessly  on  others'  black- 
ness and  her  own  immaculateness.  In  fact,  these  wordy 
outpourings  made  it  so  difficult  for  a  customer  to  get 
away  that  many  of  the  villagers  avoided  her  shop 
altogether. 

Until  within  a  few  years  she  and  her  husband  had 
kept  the  village  inn.  They  were  turned  out,  accord- 
ing to  her  story,  through  a  very  wicked  series  of  plot- 
tings,  deceptions,  and  broken  promises.  Her  husband's 
brothers  were  the  chief  villains  in  the  affair,  and  it  was 
understood  that  she  lay  awake  nights  hating  them. 
The  two  dissenting  ministers  of  the  village  were  also 
objects  of  her  antipathy.  Both  in  preaching  and  in 
practice  they  were  opposed  to  the  use  of  spirits  as  a 


8  The  Land  of  Heather 

beverage,  and  the  things  they  had  said  about  those 
who  sold  intoxicants  were  not  at  all  to  the  liking  of 
the  lady  of  the  shop.  "  They're  a'ways  meddlin',"  she 
declared  in  tones  full  of  venom,  "  and  they'll  preclaim 
frae  the  poopit  aboot  the  weekedness  o'  the  public  (the 
grog  shop) ;  but  I  say,  dinna  they  ken  that  in  the 
Bible  the  pubhcans  are  aye  ca'ed  much  better  than 
the   sinners  ? " 

The  public  house  of  the  clachan  was  on  the  back 
row.  At  noon,  in  the  evening,  and  on  holidays,  there 
were  many  loiterers  in  its  neighborhood,  and  the  sound 
of  boisterous  laughing  or  singing  was  often  heard  from 
the  taproom.  Occasionally  the  merriment  was  increased 
and  encouraged  by  the  drone  of  a  bagpipe.  The  inn 
stood  near  a  narrow  byway  which  connected  the  front 
row  of  the  village  with  the  back,  and  down  this  by- 
way, drunken  men  frequently  came  staggering  after  too 
freely  partaking  of  the  wares  of  the  publican.  Some- 
times a  man  would  be  so  overcome  when  he  reached 
the  main  road  that  he  would  throw  himself  down  on 
the  grass  that  bordered  the  wheel  tracks  and  lie  there  for 
hours  in  tipsy  stupor,  while  the  rest  of  us  who  travelled 
that  way  passed  by  on  the  other  side  like  the  priest 
and  Levite  of  old.  These  inert  figures  were  most  often 
stretched  on  the  turf  near  the  outskirts  of  the  clachan, 
with  the  "  U.  P."  (United  Presbyterian)  kirk  looking 
gloomily  down  from  just  over  the  hedge. 


A  Rural  Hamlet  9 

The  local  ^^ polls"  had  headquarters  a  mile  down 
the  road,  and  a  lone  policeman  was  often  in  the  village, 
but  he  never  interfered  with  a  drunken  man  as  long  as 
he  was  moderately  peaceable.  If  a  man  fell  by  the 
wayside,  the   polls  let  him   lie  there. 

The  U.  P.  Church  was  at  the  end  of  the  front  row 
of  the  village,  and  immediately  behind  it  was  the  Free 
Kirk,  at  the  end  of  the  back  row.  Both  were  plain, 
small  edifices  of  stone.  The  U.  P.  was  entirely  with- 
out ornament,  but  the  Free  had  a  tiny  porch  at  the 
entrance,  and  up  aloft  on  the  peak  was  perched  a  little 
cupola  with  a  bell  in  it,  while  at  the  rear  of  the  edifice 
was  a  vestry.  The  diminutive  size  of  this  vestry  made 
it  seem  as  if  it  had  been  built  for  a  joke.  Here  is  Ian 
Maclaren's  realistic  description  of  it  from  "  Beside  the 
Bonnie  Brier  Bush  "  :  — 

"  The  Free  Kirk  people  were  very  proud  of  their 
vestry  because  it  was  reasonably  supposed  to  be  the 
smallest  in  Scotland.  It  was  eight  feet  by  eight,  and 
consisted  largely  of  two  doors  and  a  fireplace.  Lockers 
on  either  side  of  the  mantelpiece  contained  the  church 
library,  which  abounded  in  the  lives  of  the  Scottish 
worthies,  and  was  never  lightly  disturbed.  Where 
there  was  neither  grate  nor  door,  a  narrow  board  ran 
along  the  wall,  on  which  it  was  a  point  of  honor  to 
seat  the  twelve  deacons,  who  met  once  a  month  to 
raise  the  sustentation  fund.      Seating  the  court  was  a 


lo  The  Land  of  Heather 

work  of  art,  and  could  only  be  achieved  by  the  repres- 
sion of  the  smaller  men,  who  looked  out  from  the  loop- 
holes of  retreat,  the  projection  of  bigger  men,  on  to 
their  neighbors'  knees.  Netherton  was  always  the 
twelfth  man  to  arrive,  and  nothing  could  be  done  till 
he  was  safely  settled.  Only  some  six  inches  were  re- 
served at  the  end  of  the  bench,  and  he  was  a  full  sitter, 
but  he  had  discovered  a  trick  of  sitting  sideways  and 
screwing  his  leg  against  the  opposite  wall,  that  secured 
the  court  as  well  as  himself  in  their  places,  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  a  compressed  spring.  When  this  operation 
was  completed,  Burnbrae  used  to  say  to  the  minister, 
who  sat  in  the  middle  on  a  cane  chair  before  the  tiniest 
of  tables  — 

"  '  We're  fine  and  comfortable  noo.  Moderator,  and 
ye  can  begin  business  as  sune  as  ye  like.'  " 

Ian  Maclaren,  or,  to  use  his  real  name,  the  Rev. 
John  Watson,  was  the  minister  of  the  Free  Kirk  in 
early  life  and  lived  in  the  adjoining  manse,  a  substan- 
tial and  pleasant  house  that  in  its  situation  is  uncom- 
monly favored  ;  for  it  turns  its  back  to  the  village  and 
looks  down  on  a  sweet  little  dell  through  which  rambles 
a  clear,  pebbly  brook.  The  view  from  the  manse  is 
extensive,  and  to  the  north  the  hills  sweep  up  finely  to 
dim  ranges  of  the  Grampians  dreaming  in  the  distance. 

The  Drumtochty  folk  esteemed  Dr.  Watson  a  very 
clever  man,  but  they  did  not  care  much  for  his  writ- 


A  Rural  Hamlet  ii 

ings,  aside  from  the  interest  stirred  by  their  purely  local 
ilavor.  His  descriptions  of  character,  and  the  humor 
and  the  pathos,  were  largely  lost  on  them.  When  the 
"  Brier  Bush  "  stories  first  appeared  the  U.  P.  minister 
in  his  delight  over  them  read  one  of  the  most  laughter- 
provoking  chapters  at  a  meeting  of  his  elders.  But 
the  elders  were  perfectly  imperturbable,  and  sat  un- 
moved to  the  end.  The  minister  did  not  repeat  the 
experiment. 

The  inhabitants  saw  nothing  of  story  interest  about 
the  region  or  about  themselves  ;  and  if  truth  be  told, 
any  visitor  who  goes  there  expecting  something  extraor- 
dinary will  be  disappointed.  Surrounding  nature  is 
by  no  means  especially  picturesque  or  beautiful,  and 
life  runs  the  usual  course  of  labor,  gossip,  and  small 
happenings.  It  is  the  author's  skill  that  transforms 
all  this  in  the  books  and  makes  ideal  and  heroic  much 
that  in  the  reality  seems  dull  and  commonplace  to  the 
uninspired  observer. 

One  book  character  of  whom  I  often  heard  was 
Dr.  Leitch,  who,  a  good  deal  modified,  is  the  lovable 
Dr.  Maclure  of  the  "  Brier  Bush."  He  had  been  dead 
now  a  score  of  years,  and  I  saw  his  grave  among  the 
others  that  huddled  about  the  gray  walls  of  the  Estab- 
lished Kirk  in  the  little  parish  burying-ground.  But 
the  doctor  was  never  any  hero  to  the  Drumtochty 
folk.     Their  view  was  quite  disparaging.     He  was  a 


12  The  Land  of  Heather 

picturesque  figure,  awkward  and  rudely  clad,  and  his 
professional  methods  were  as  crude  as  his  outward 
appearance.  Still  he  was  a  fairly  good  doctor  when 
you  caught  him  sober.  It  was  proverbial  in  Drum- 
tochty  that  he  was  all  right  if  his  services  were  asked 
when,  mounted  on  his  white  horse,  he  was  riding  east ; 
but  when  he  was  returning  west  he  was  sure  to  have 
visited  the  public  and  was  worse  than  no  doctor  at  all. 
Often,  on  his  way  home,  he  was  so  exuberant  with 
the  "  mountain  dew "  he  had  imbibed  that  he  rode 
along  Hke  a  mad  man,  swinging  his  hat  on  his  stick 
and  singing,  "  Scots  wha  ha'e  wi'  Wallace  bled,"  at  the 
top  of  his  voice. 

Of  all  the  people  who  figure  in  Dr.  Watson's  narra- 
tives perhaps  the  one  who  was  copied  most  faithfully 
from  life  is  the  guard  of  the  Kildrummie  train.  Kil- 
drummie,  six  miles  distant  from  Drumtochty,  is  the 
nearest  railway  town.  A  short  branch  line  extends  to 
it  from  the  main  route  that  connects  Perth  with  Crieff, 
and  a  single  train  runs  back  and  forth  between  the 
town  and  the  junction.  This  is  pulled  by  a  super- 
annuated little  engine  which  is  said  to  sometimes 
fail  on  the  up  grade  so  that  the  passengers  have  to 
get  out  and  push.  The  guard,  or  conductor,  as  we 
would  call  him,  is  the  Peter  Bruce  of  the  "  Brier 
Bush  "  stories  to  perfection,  and  every  reader  of  the 
tales  who  journeys  to  Drumtochty  recognizes  him  at 


A  Rural  Hamlet  13 

once  and  always  calls  him  Peter,  entirely  independent 
of  the  fact  that  his  real  name  is  "  Sandy  "  Walker. 
It  was  a  pleasure  to  watch  this  gray  little  old  man, 
he  was  so  bustling  and  good-natured,  and  his  eyes  were 
so  full  of  twinkle.  He  looked  after  the  welfare  of  the 
passengers  as  attentively  as  if  they  were  his  children, 
and  it  seemed  to  come  natural  for  him  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  all  strangers  and  to  find  out  their 
business  the  first  time  they  rode  on  his  train. 

He  always  spoke  as  if  he  did  not  relish  the  notoriety 
the  books  brought  him,  yet  I  fancy  his  protests  were 
mainly  bluff.  Probably  it  will  be  a  long  time  before 
he  sues  Dr.  Watson  for  "defamation  of  character,"  as 
he  hinted  was  his  intention.  He  did  his  best  to 
correct  romance  by  a  relation  of  the  actual  circum- 
stances. 

"  Oh,  I  ken  Watson  fine  !  "  he  said,  "  but  thae 
books  are  two-thirds  lees.  The  Drumtochty  men 
were  aye  a  drunken  lot.  It's  a'  very  true  aboot  their 
stannin'  aroon'  on  the  Junction  platform,  but  it 
wasna  for  the  clatter  that  Watson  tells  aboot  —  it 
was  because  they  was  too  drunk  to  know  enough  to 
get  on  the  train.  Mony's  the  time  they  had  to  be 
put  on  —  pushed  into  their  places  Hke  cattle,  or  lifted 
like  bags  o'  grain." 

No  doubt  Peter's  trials  with  the  stubborn  farmers 
of  the  uplands  made  him  take  an  extreme  view  of 


14  The  Land  of  Heather 

their  failings  ;  but  it  was  true  that  the  Drumtochty 
folk  were  addicted  to  liquor  beyond  anything  I  am 
familiar  with  in  rural  America.  Nearly  all  the  farmers 
drank  in  moderation,  and  even  a  church  elder  could 
stagger  after  a  visit  to  Perth  without  losing  caste. 

Yet  whatever  their  lacks,  past  or  present,  one  would 
have  to  travel  far  to  find  people  more  kindly  and 
whole-souled.  They  make  hospitaHty  a  fine  art,  and 
if  you  asked  a  favor,  even  of  some  old  farmer  in  gar- 
ments that  would  shame  a  scarecrow,  it  was  sure  to  be 
granted  with  a  courtesy  that  won  your  affection  on  the 
spot.  Another  attraction  which  the  Drumtochtians 
possessed  in  common  with  all  the  Scotch  was  their 
peculiar  patois.  The  burr  was  always  present,  and 
they  never  failed  to  roll  their  rs,  while  a  ch  was 
sounded  low  in  the  throat  in  a  way  that  made  you 
wonder  enviously  how  the  children  had  ever  caught 
the  knack  of  pronouncing  it.  When  reference  was 
made  to  anything  diminutive  the  ending  ie  or  y  was 
commonly  added,  and  the  word  thus  softened  and 
caressed  was  very  pleasant  to  the  ear,  and  a  decided 
improvement,  I  thought,  over  plain  English.  The 
only  time  I  had  any  doubts  about  this  extra  syllable 
was  when  a  woman  spoke  of  her  "  Mary's  little  gravy," 
not  meaning  any  portion  of  the  family  bill  of  fare,  but 
the  spot  in  the  burial-place  where  lay  a  child  she  had 
lost. 


A  Rural  Hamlet  15 

Perth  was  the  commercial  centre  of  the  district, 
and  business  or  pleasure,  or  more  likely  a  combina- 
tion of  the  two,  took  most  of  the  people  of  Drum- 
tochty  there  very  frequently.  The  Kildrummie  train 
was  not  the  only  public  conveyance  thither.  Twice  a 
week  a  short  omnibus,  or  "  brake  '*  as  it  was  called, 
made  the  journey,  starting  from  Drumtochty  in  the 
early  morning  and  returning  the  same  evening.  The 
round  trip  was  twenty-two  miles.  It  was  not  as  tire- 
some as  one  might  fancy  —  at  least  that  was  my  expe- 
rience on  the  only  occasion  I  took  advantage  of  the 
vehicle.  I  recall  the  return  journey  with  most  inter- 
est. The  brake  stood  by  the  curbing  on  Perth's  chief 
street  ready  to  start  when  I  climbed  in.  A  moment 
later  the  driver  came  out  from  a  near  public,  mounted 
to  his  seat  and  off  we  went. 

But  we  had  not  gone  far  when  a  small  boy  in  a 
tradesman's  apron  came  shouting  along  the  street 
after  us  with  a  great  bundle  in  his  arms.  Other  boys, 
nearer,  took  up  the  cry,  and  our  driver  became  cog- 
nizant of  the  hubbub  and  halted  until  the  lad  came 
panting  to  the  wagon  side  and  passed  up  his  bundle. 
Again  we  started,  and  again  we  were  stopped  almost 
immediately  by  a  woman,  who  hailed  us  from  the 
sidewalk.  She  climbed  in,  but  pretty  soon  said  she 
was  in  the  wrong  brake,  and  had  the  driver  let  her 
out.     The  horses  had  just  begun  to  trot  once  more 


1 6  The  Land  of  Heather 

when  we  heard  a  halloo  in  the  far  distance  behind,  and 
saw  two  women  and  a  man  hastening  in  our  pursuit, 
all  three  laden  with  a  great  variety  of  parcels.  We 
waited  for  them  and  they  squeezed  in,  stowed  what 
parcels  they  could  under  the  seats,  and  handed  the 
surplus  to  the  driver  to  be  packed  away  in  front. 
Some  of  the  passengers  were  in  danger  of  finding  their 
sittings  cramped,  but  when  the  driver  questioned  them 
they  always  said  they  were  fixed  "  fine,"  and  everybody 
tried  to  make  everybody  else  as  comfortable  as  possible. 

Thus  we  jogged  on  up  and  down  the  hills  until  we 
began  to  near  our  destination.  Every  now  and  then 
in  this  part  of  our  journey  one  or  more  of  the  pas- 
sengers would  call  to  the  driver,  and  he  would  pull 
in  his  horses  and  roll  down  from  his  seat  to  help 
them  in  alighting.  This  done,  and  the  bundles 
handed  out,  he  said,  "  Good  nicht,  and  thank  you 
kindly,"  and  we  were  off  once  more.  Often  people 
on  the  watch  would  run  out  from  wayside  houses  to 
get  parcels  brought  by  the  driver  or  to  meet  friends, 
and  sometimes  a  lone  boy  would  be  in  waiting  at  the 
entrance  to  a  lane  that  led  away  to  a  farmhouse.  In 
the  village  itself  there  was  quite  a  bustle  of  unloading, 
with  half  the  inhabitants  loitering  in  home  doorways, 
or  on  the  sidewalk,  watching  proceedings. 

During  my  stay  in  Drumtochty  hardly  a  day  passed 
in  which  I  did  not  get  out  for  a  walk,  and  I  gradually 


Kathie  scrubs  the   Front  Walk 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  69 

tripod  eight  or  ten  feet  high,  to  serve  as  a  support, 
and  to  help  in  ventilation.  The  person  on  the  stack 
tramps  the  hay  and  places  it  as  it  is  thrown  up  from 
below  till  it  is  piled  well  above  the  top  of  the  wooden 
tripod.  Special  care  is  taken  to  arrange  the  final  fork- 
fuls so  that  they  shall  form  a  cap  and  shed  the  rain. 
That  the  top  may  not  blow  off,  two  ropes  are  adjusted 
over  the  stack.  The  ends  dangle  down  the  sides,  and  a 
man  below  weights  them  with  stones.  Then  a  ladder  is 
set  against  the  stack,  and  the  worker  up  aloft  descends. 

The  women  do  their  full  share  of  the  haymaking, 
and  their  presence  gives  the  mowing  lots  an  air 
peculiarly  domestic  and  social.  I  noticed  at  Drum- 
achar  that  not  only  the  farmer's  daughters  and  several 
hired  female  helpers  engaged  in  the  work,  but  if  callers 
came,  whether  men  or  women,  they  too  went  to  the 
hayfield,  and  while  they  visited,  partook  in  the  labor, 
in  spite  of  their  best  clothes.  The  children  were 
there  also,  and  the  scene  was  a  very  pleasant  and  busy 
one. 

What  the  everyday  work  of  a  Scotch  farm  is  I  can 
perhaps  best  make  clear  by  describing  it  as  it  was  at 
Hillocks,  for  it  was  there  I  became  most  familiar  with 
its  routine.  Of  course,  allowance  must  be  made  for 
variations  in  details.  Hillocks  himself  is  out  in  the 
fields  in  summer  at  half-past  four.  But  previous  to 
leaving  the  house  he  rouses  the  rest  of  the  farm  family 


70 


The  Land  of  Heather 


and  does  some  of  the  preliminary  kitchen  work.  First 
he  attends  to  the  lire,  which,  thanks  to  his  mania  for 
economy,  still  has  a  dim  bit  of  life  in  it  lingering  from 
the  day  before.  Each  night,  to  save  the  expense  of 
the  match  it  would  be  necessary  to  use  in  relighting 
his  fire  if  it  went  out,  he  covers  the  coals  with  clods 
—  peeUngs  of  mossy  turf  from  the  moor.  These 
peelings  are  chiefly  used  to  cover  the  potatoes  when 
they  are  piled  up  in  the  fields  for  winter  storage,  but 
Hillocks  makes  them  do  double  service. 

After  he  has  replenished  the  fire.  Hillocks  hangs 
the  porridge  pot  on  the  sway,  with  enough  oatmeal  in 
it  for  the  household  breakfast,  and  he  sets  a  mess  of 
milk  heating  for  the  calves.  The  farm  help  are  sup- 
posed to  be  up  and  starting  work  at  five,  but,  like  a 
great  many  folk  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  they  feel 
their  sleepiest  at  getting-up  time,  and  their  response 
to  the  master's  summons  is  not  as  ready  as  it  might 
be.  Most  likely  they  nap  until  he  comes  in  from  his 
field  work  and  calls  again.  The  farmer  begins  to  be 
disturbed  now,  and  he  cries  up  the  stairway  that  the 
clock  has  struck  five,  "  and  the  naxt  one  it'll  chop'll 
be  sax  !  "  or  he  informs  them,  "  the  sun's  gaein'  wast, 
and  the  pay's  rinnin'  on." 

The  girls  exasperate  him  by  their  dilatoriness  in 
dressing,  and  to  them  he  calls  out,  "  It'll  tak'  ye  five 
minutes  to  pit  in  every  pin  !  " 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  71 

Judging  from  the  usual  looks  of  their  clothing,  pins 
were  the  chief  fastenings,  and  I  suppose  a  secure  adjust- 
ment consumed  of  necessity  a  good  deal  of  time.  The 
men,  when  they  rise,  go  to  the  barn  and  take  care 
of  the  horses,  and  the  three  lassies  milk  the  cows  and 
feed  the  calves  and  pigs.  Toward  seven,  the  breakfast 
hour,  the  men  come  in  and  wash.  None  of  them  use 
soap ;  neither  do  the  lassies.  It  is  a  luxury  of  which 
Hillocks  does  not  approve  ;  and  when  one  of  his  hired 
girls  exchanged  some  farm  produce  with  a  pedler,  for 
a  cake  of  the  toilet  variety,  he  was  very  much  shocked. 
She  put  it  in  a  convenient  place  for  family  use ; 
but  Hillocks  would  not  allow  such  extravagance. 
"  Washin'  hands  with  soap!"  he  exclaimed;  "  ye're 
enough  to  ruin  ten  men  !  " 

The  girl  with  longings  for  soap  had  a  weakness  for 
the  esthetic  in  other  directions  also,  and  one  day 
created  a  similar  storm  by  whitening  the  ash-hole,  and 
going  over  the  hearthstone  with  blue  chalk.  These 
things  are  quite  customary  among  such  Scotch  house- 
wives as  take  pains  to  beautify  their  kitchens,  but  to 
Hillocks  it  seemed  a  waste  of  valuable  time  and 
energy.  "  I've  lived  seventy  and  twa  years  i'  the 
world,  and  never  seen  the  ash-hole  whitened  afore,"  was 
his  disapproving  comment. 

The  farm  breakfast  consists  of  porridge,  milk,  and  a 
cup  of  tea.     The  girls  gather  at  a  table  on  one  side  of 


72  The  Land  of  Heather 

the  room,  and  the  men  at  a  table  opposite.  As  the]? 
sit  down,  Hillocks  is  wont  to  say,  boastfully,  "  I  had 
a  drill  (row)  hoed  afore  ony  o'  ye  came  oot ;  "  or  if  it  is 
not  the  hoeing  season,  he  mentions  some  other  task 
he  has  accomplished  while  they  were  drowsing. 

From  breakfast  till  noon  all  the  farm  hands,  with 
the  exception  of  the  housekeeper,  are  working  in  the 
fields.  At  "  twal  "  they  come  in  to  eat  dinner.  The 
bill  of  fare  is  broth  made  of  kail,  carrots,  pease,  and 
cabbage,  followed  by  meat  and  potatoes ;  and  occasion- 
ally there  is  a  dessert  of  rhubarb,  stewed  with  milk. 
After  the  men  go  out,  the  women  may  make  a  cup  of 
tea  on  the  sly ;  but  they  all  scurry  out  of  sight  if  Hil- 
locks appears  in  the  midst  of  this  clandestine  indul- 
gence, for  he  "  doesna  alloo  much  tea." 

Just  before  dinner  the  lassies  had  driven  in  the 
cows,  and  now  they  resort  to  the  byres  and  milk  them, 
and  then  turn  them  out  to  pasture  again.  The  men 
care  for  the  horses,  and  sit  about  smoking  and  talk- 
ing till  two,  when  they  are  due  in  the  fields.  At  half- 
past  six  they  break  off  work,  put  up  their  horses,  and 
are  free  to  do  what  they  please.  The  supper  at  seven 
is  of  tea  and  jam,  with  meat  food  in  the  form  of  ham, 
stewed  rabbit,  or  eggs.  Bread,  scones,  and  oat  cakes 
are  on  the  table  at  every  meal.  Between  eight  and 
nine  the  women  milk  for  the  third  time,  and  their 
work  is  not  often  done  till  toward  ten. 


A  Wall  of  Crockery 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm   Folk  65 

I  gaed  awa'  hame  wi'  nae  mair  tribble  than  if  I  had 
ta'en  water." 

This  affection  for  the  social  glass  was  nothing  ex- 
ceptional. The  Scotch  as  a  people  are  hard  drinkers, 
and  their  favorite  liquor,  whiskey,  is  kept  in  nearly  all 
the  homes  for  occasional  family  drams  and  for  treat- 
ing friends  who  chance  to  call.  The  conviction  is 
growing,  however,  that  it  is  the  curse  of  the  country  ; 
and  drinking  and  drunkenness,  which  were  once  ac- 
cepted as  a  matter  of  course,  if  not  as  an  actual  glory, 
are  falling  more  and  more  into  disrepute. 

My  host,  at  the  close  of  his  reminiscence  showing  his 
prowess  as  a  consumer  of  Irish  whiskey,  got  out  his 
snuff-box,  and  with  the  little  ivory  spoon  that  was  in- 
side administered  a  good  sniff  to  each  nostril.  The 
snuff-taking  habit  was  not  at  all  general  among  the 
women  or  the  younger  men ;  but  the  pungent  dust 
was  held  to  be  one  of  the  necessities  by  men  who  were 
middle-aged  or  elderly.  When  two  such  met,  their 
cordiality  was  pretty  sure  to  be  accentuated  by  one  or 
the  other  getting  out  his  snuff-box,  and  each  taking  a 
companionable  pinch.  In  case  the  box  was  offered 
to  a  non-snuff-taker,  he  was  considered  satisfactorily 
polite  if  he  simply  passed  it  under  his  nose. 

Many  visitors  came  to  Drumtochty,  drawn  by  the 
fame  that  had  been  given  it  by  Ian  Maclaren,  and 
among  them  were  a  number  from  across  the  ocean. 

F 


66  The  Land  of  Heather 

"It's  unearthly  —  a'  thae  Americans  comin'  here," 
was  the  comment  of  one  of  the  older  village  folk ;  for 
this  interest  shown  by  the  outside  world  was  to  the 
average  inhabitant  something  past  understanding.  The 
most  notable  of  the  visitors,  while  I  was  there,  was  a 
public  reader,  a  woman,  who  made  a  specialty  of  Scotch 
stories.  She  gave  a  reading  from  Maclaren  in  the 
schoolhouse  before  she  left,  and  the  audience,  which 
was  entirely  unused  to  exhibitions  of  the  sort,  was  very 
much  impressed.  Hillocks,  who  had  a  front  seat,  was 
entirely  overcome  by  the  dramatic  impersonations,  and 
declared  afterwards  that  he  did  not  suppose  there  was 
such  a  thing  in  the  world. 

The  next  day,  at  the  request  of  the  reader,  I  took 
her  and  her  father,  who  was  travelling  with  her,  to  call 
on  Hillocks.  The  old  farmer  considered  this  a  great 
honor,  and  hastened  to  ask  us  what  we  would  "  take." 

"  Ye  wull  surely  taste  wi'  me,"  he  said.  "  Ye're  no 
a'  teetot'lars!  Ah-ha  !  Weel,  noo,  I  neever  jined  the 
teetot'lars  masel',  but  I  dinna  drink,  nevertheless.  I 
juist  tak'  a  bit  noo  and  then  wi'  a  neebor,  to  be  social 
and  friendly  lak.  Wull  ye  hae  a  glass  Vv^i'  me  ?  A 
bit  whuskey  'ill  no  hurt  a  mon." 

Later  in  our  call  he  took  hold  of  the  reader's  sleeve 
and  remarked  :  "  That's  a  fine  goon,  wuman.  It  maun 
hae  cost  a  gude  bit  o'  siller.  But  it's  warum,  too,  aye, 
gey  warum,  and  it's  saft  lak  unner  the  feengers." 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  67 

He  mourned  some  over  the  contrast  between  him- 
self and  his  visitors.  "  You  can  traivel  a*  aroon'  the 
warld  juist  as  you  please,"  said  he,  "  while  I  maun 
work  on  because  I  canna  afford  to  stop."  Yet  he  was 
worth  forty  or  fifty  thousand  dollars. 

I  have  said  that  in  the  matter  of  cleanliness  the 
farmhouses  of  the  region  impressed  me  unfavorably, 
but  there  were  exceptions.  For  instance,  at  Drum- 
achar  the  dwelling  was  quite  irreproachable.  The 
scullery  and  the  milkhouse  had  floors  of  asphalt  and 
walls  of  whitewashed  plaster,  and  there  was  no  sign 
of  dirt  anywhere  indoors.  Outside,  however,  was  the 
coal-heap  close  under  the  kitchen  windows,  and  a  great 
flock  of  hens,  ducks,  and  turkeys  made  themselves  at 
home  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  back  door.  On  the 
day  I  was  at  Drumachar  noon  came  just  as  I  was  leav- 
ing the  house,  and  I  met  at  the  door  two  young 
women,  the  farmer's  daughters,  in  wide,  scoop- 
brimmed  hats,  coming  in  from  hoeing.  The  lassies 
looked  neat  and  attractive,  their  cheeks  were  rosy,  and 
they  seemed  perfectly  healthy  and  contented.  Every 
year  in  haying  time  the  older  girl  made  all  the  stacks 
—  no  small  task,  for  the  farm  was  the  largest  in  the 
district.  Fifty  cows  were  kept  on  it  and  the  milk  was 
sent  off  daily  to  Dundee. 

Haying  begins  at  Drumtochty  the  last  of  June. 
Mowing-machines  are  in  common  use,  though  scythes 


68  The  Land  of  Heather 

are  by  no  means  things  of  the  past.  Turning  is 
done  by  hand,  but  every  farmer  has  a  horse-rake. 
The  weather  is  so  indined  to  be  dull  and  showery 
that  it  is  difficult  to  cure  the  grass  in  a  reasonable 
length  of  time,  and  it  is  therefore  raked  up  while  still 
rather  green,  and  piled  in  cone-shaped  stacks,  each  con- 
taining about  a  fair-sized  load.  The  hay  is  left  stacked 
in  the  field  where  it  grew  for  several  weeks  until 
thoroughly  dry,  when  it  is  loaded  on  carts  and  conveyed 
to  the  stackyard  near  the  farmhouse.  One  mowing 
suffices,  and  in  the  fall  the  land  is  let  for  the  winter 
grazing  of  the  sheep  from  the  moors. 

The  horse-rake  employed  in  gathering  the  hay  into 
windrows  is  a  heavy  iron  affair,  that  looks  as  if  it  was 
meant  for  a  harrow.  A  man  walks  along  behind  to 
manage  it  and  drive  the  horse.  A  very  different  type 
of  rake  is  used  to  bring  the  hay  from  the  windrows  to 
the  stacks.  It  is  a  many-toothed  wooden  contrivance, 
like  a  double-edged  comb.  It  slides  along  flat  on  the 
ground,  and  the  horse  is  hitched  a  considerable  distance 
in  front,  to  allow  as  large  a  mass  of  hay  as  possible  to 
gather  on  the  teeth.  When  it  is  to  be  dumped,  the 
man  stepping  along  in  its  wake  lifts  the  handles  enough 
to  make  the  teeth  catch  in  the  ground  and  force  it  to 
flop  over.  At  Drumachar  the  younger  sister  rode  the 
horse,  sitting  astride  on  a  blanket. 

In  the  centre  of  each  haystack  is  a  rough,  wooden 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm   Folk  77 

likely  to  in  another,  and  the  list  of  prizes  was  long 
enough,  so  that  every  man  had  a  fair  chance  to  get 
something. 

On  April  first  the  children  celebrate  in  much  the 
same  way  they  do  in  our  country.  They  fool  each 
other  and  their  elders,  pin  bits  of  paper  on  coats,  and 
send  the  unwary  on  errands  that  are  invented  for  the 
day.  The  errand  trick  is  the  one  on  which  they  most 
pride  themselves,  and  it  is  that  gives  the  day  its  Scotch 
title  of  "  Gowk's  Errant  Day." 

"  Fastern's  E'en,"  too,  is  the  occasion  of  considerable 
curious  celebrating  in  Drumtochty.  I  was  a  good  deal 
puzzled  to  know  what  the  term  meant,  for  all  that  the 
villagers  could  tell  me  was  simply  that  it  was  usually  in 
February.  First  came  Candlemas,  and  then  you  waited 
till  you  had  a  new  moon,  and  the  night  of  the  next 
"  Chuesday  "  after  that  was  "  Fastern's  E'en."  Finally 
I  asked  the  Free  Kirk  minister,  and  he  said  it  was  the 
evening  before  Lent,  an  evening  which  in  some  coun- 
tries would  be  celebrated  as  the  climax  of  the  carnival 
time  preceding  the  Lenten  quiet.  It  was  a  strange 
echo  of  these  revels  that  had  found  its  way  to  the 
Scotch  upland.  Some  one  in  the  village  would  make 
up  a  lot  of  small  "treacle  scones,"  and  invite  all  the 
"  young  folks  "  to  come  in  for  the  evening.  By  young 
folks  was  not  meant  just  the  unmarried  lads  and  lassies. 
"  Oh,  we  wouldna  like  it,"  said  the  shoemaker's  wife, 


78  The  Land  of  Heather 

"  no  to  gae  after  we  marry.  The  young  fowk  are  ony 
frae  twal  to  fifty,  married  or  unmarried.  I  hae  seen  a 
gude  hooseful  whiles  i'  this  kitchen  on  Fastern's  E'en. 
Soom  sit  on  the  chairs,  soom  on  the  bed  and  the 
table  —  oh,  onywhere  !  The  scones  wad  hae  things 
stirred  in  wi'  the  batter,  but  ye  couldna  tell  what  you 
might  get.  We  wad  aye  feel  the  scone  wi'  our  feengers 
afore  we  ate  it.  Soomtimes  there  wad  be  ane  'thing  in 
it,  soomtimes  twa,  or  it  might  be  none  at  a'.  If  you 
found  a  reeng,  you  wad  be  the  first  to  marry  ;  or  a  but- 
ton, you  wad  marry  a  tailor  ;  or  a  thimmel,  wad  sew  for 
a  leevin';  or  a  threpenny  bit,  wad  marry  a  reech  mon. 
Then  by  and  by,  aifter  the  fun  is  ower,  each  lad  wad 
be  huntin'  a  lass  an'  speirin'  wad  she  gae  hame  wi* 
him.  '  Are  ye  ready  to  gae  hame  noo  ? '  he  wad  say  ; 
and  if  she  said,  'No,  I  am  no  ready,'  he  wad  ken  he 
couldna  hae  her,  and  then  he  wad  speir  soom  ither  lass, 
and  aifter  the  lassies  were  a'  seen  hame  the  lads  might 
pu'  the  kail  stalks  up  in  our  gardens,  or  tie  sticks 
across  our  doors  so  we  couldna  get  oot  naxt  mornin'. 
Aye,  it  wad  fair  scunner  ye,  soom  o'  the  things  the 
laddies  dae  on  Pastern's  E'en." 

In  September  a  "flower  show  "  is  held  in  the  school- 
house,  to  which  resort  the  people  from  all  the  region. 
They  bring  for  exhibition  flowers,  both  cut  and  in 
pots ;  garden  vegetables,  fruits,  honey,  butter,  cheese ; 
and  the  cooks  each  contribute  samples  of  their  culi- 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  79 

nary  art  in  the  shape  of  a  certain  number  of  scones  and 
oat  cakes  and  six  boiled  potatoes.  A  small  charge  is 
made  for  admission,  a  "  sheddle"  (schedule  or  catalogue) 
is  printed,  and  various  prizes  are  given. 

Later  in  the  fall  the  young  folks  find  pleasure  in  the 
dusk  of  the  chilly  evenings  gathering  the  hedge  cut- 
tings and  rubbish  into  piles  and  making  great  shanacles 
(bonfires).  Still  later  comes  Hallowe'en  with  its  "apple 
dookinV'  burning  of  nuts,  and  other  sports,  and  then 
there  is  a  blank  until  Christmas.  On  that  day,  in  the 
homes  where  there  are  young  children,  they  "  do  up 
the  hoose  wi'  greens,"  which  means  that  the  kitchen  is 
trimmed  with  box,  fir,  ivy,  and  holly;  and  a  final  touch 
is  furnished  by  a  sprig  of  mistletoe,  which  is  hung  over 
the  kitchen  door  to  give  the  inmates  the  liberty  to 
kiss  whoever  comes  in.  It  is  mainly  the  young  people 
who  do  the  kissing.  If  a  man  whose  youth  is  past 
takes  advantage  of  the  mistletoe,  the  others  deride  him 
and  say:  "You've  no  need  to  be  rinnin'  aifter  the 
lassies.  You're  up  on  the  shelf  a'ready."  Inexpensive 
presents  are  given  to  the  bairns  at  home  and  to  some 
of  their  small  relatives  who  live  near  by.  The  grown- 
up folk  take  no  notice  of  the  day  for  themselves, 
except  that  the  wife  invites  in  several  friends  to  an 
extra  good  dinner  at  seven  after  "  he,"  as  the  wife  calls 
the  husband,  has  finished  work.  Plum  pudding  and 
tea  cakes  are  the  special  features  of  this  repast. 


8o  The  Land  of  Heather 

The  year  ends  with  "  Hogmanay  Night."  "  Hog- 
manay "  is  an  ancient  term  of  uncertain  meaning, 
though  some  suppose  its  equivalent  to  be  the  hearty 
old-time  greeting,  "  God  be  with  you."  On  this  last 
night  of  the  year  it  is  the  custom  of  the  children  to  go 
"  guysin'."  They  start  out,  half  a  dozen  or  so  in  a 
company,  just  after  they  have  eaten  their  supper,  at 
about  six  o'clock.  "  Soom  blacks  their  faces  wi'  soot," 
explained  my  landlady,  "  wi'  perhaps  a  spot  here  and 
there  o'  whitening.  Ithers  hae  false  faces  on.  They 
wear  auld  coats,  and  tie  their  trousers  up  wi'  strae.  I 
gey  often  dress  Jimmie  as  a  wuman.  I  hae  seen  them 
no  kennin'  him  at  a'.  Soom  wull  hae  penny  whustles, 
and  they  carry  long  sticks  to  pound  wi'  when  they 
dance.  They  gae  a'  through  the  clachan  to  every 
hoose,  and  then  to  the  farmhooses  not  too  far  awa*. 
They  gae  in  wi'  no  muckle  knockin',  an'  the  fowk  say, 
'  Why  div  ye  no  begin  to  sing  and  dance  ?  '  One  o' 
their  songs  is  this  — 

**  *  Get  up,  auld  wife,  and  shake  your  feathers. 
And  dinna  think  that  we  are  beggars. 
We're  juist  a  wheen  bairns  come  oot  tae  play  ; 
Rise  up  and  gie  us  oor  Hogmanay.* 

Before  they  go,  the  fowk  treats  them  to  oranges,  short- 
bread, or  cake,  and  gies  them  usually  a  penny  apiece. 
They  wullna  get  hame  till  ten  or  eleven  o'clock,  and 
soomtimes  Jimmie  hae  near  twa  shillings." 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm   Folk  73 

Hens  and  ducks  were  plenty  at  Hillocks,  but  they 
were  never  served  on  the  family  table.  They  went  to 
market  instead,  and  were  turned  into  "  siller."  The 
hens  were  the  care  of  the  housekeeper.  They  roosted 
on  some  poles  under  the  eaves,  in  an  old  cow  byre. 
They  laid  all  around  the  buildings,  sometimes  in  the 
corn,  or  under  a  hedge,  and  there  was  one  biddy  that 
walked  up  the  back  stairs  every  day,  and  laid  an  egg  in 
the  ploughman's  bed. 

The  farmers  hire  their  help  by  the  year,  and  the 
year  ends  at  Martinmas,  the  28th  of  November. 
There  are  two  hiring  days,  the  first  known  as  "  Little 
Dunning  Market,"  and  the  second  as  "  Flit  Friday." 
The  former,  which  is  by  far  the  more  important,  is 
the  great  holiday  of  the  year  to  the  farm  help.  It 
comes  on  the  third  Friday  of  October,  and  they  all  go 
to  Perth  and  stand  along  the  chief  street,  and  bargain 
with  the  farmers  who  come  among  them  to  hire. 

"  Are  ye  gaein'  tae  fee  thae  day  ^  "  asks  the  farmer. 

If  the  reply  is  affirmative,  and  they  can  settle  on  a 
satisfactory  wage,  the  farmer  gives  the  man  a  shilling 
to  bind  the  bargain,  and  each  takes  the  other's  address. 
So  great  is  the  crowd  on  the  street  that  "  it  seems  a 
won'er  the  women  and  bairns  do  not  get  crushed." 

It  is  not  a  quiet  crowd.  The  ploughmen  are  there 
for  a  holiday,  and  they  are  bound  to  celebrate,  and 
"An  awfu'  lot  o'  them  gets  drunk  —  women  tae." 


74  The  Land  of  Heather 

"  Every  Jockie  has  his  Jeannie,"  and  the  men  are 
giving  all  the  girls  they  know  fairings  —  that  is,  they 
treat  them  to  sweeties  (candy),  fruits,  and  drink,  and 
buy  them  ribbons,  gloves,  and  other  little  things.  For 
themselves  the  ploughmen  invest  in  "great  muckle 
paper  roses,"  half  a  dozen  on  a  branch,  and  this 
branch  they  stick  in  their  hats.  The  hilarity  waxes 
higher  as  the  day  advances,  and  men  are  seen  parad- 
ing around  with  their  arms  about  their  sweethearts* 
necks,  and  in  the  demonstrative  sociability  the  women's 
bonnets  are  half  torn  off  their  heads,  though  the  wearers 
are  quite  oblivious  of  the  fact.  But  the  day  at  length 
comes  to  an  end,  and  the  farm  help  scatters  out  into 
the  country,  and  the  next  morning  those  who  have 
recovered  from  the  effects  of  their  holiday  are  at  work 
in  their  old  places. 

There  they  continue  until  Martinmas  Day,  the  time 
appointed  for  "  flitting  "  to  their  new  masters.  Flit 
Friday  is  the  Friday  after  Martinmas.  It  is  a  mild 
repetition  of  Little  Dunning  Market,  and  exists  for 
those  who  failed  to  fee  on  the  earlier  occasion.  Such 
go  then  to  Perth,  and  stand  for  hire  on  the  chief  street, 
and  bargain  for  places  just  as  the  others  did  a  few  weeks 
before. 

Aside  from  these  days  that  were  peculiarly  the  plough- 
man's, there  were  various  others  sprinkled  through  the 
year  that  had  more  or  less  of  a  holiday  flavor  to  the 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  75 

people  of  Drumtochty.  To  begin  with,  there  was 
the  "  First  Footin  "  that  ushered  in  the  new  year. 
The  young  men  did  not  go  to  bed  on  New  Year's 
Eve,  and  at  twelve  o'clock  they  rang  the  Free  Kirk 
bell,  and  started  out  for  a  tour  of  the  village.  As 
they  went  they  made  all  the  noise  they  could,  shout- 
ing and  singing,  beating  drums  and  playing  on  "  melo- 
jeons  "  (accordions).  They  knocked  on  the  doors  and 
bade  the  house  dwellers  get  up  and  let  them  in.  Not 
so  many  respond  to  these  summons  as  in  former  days  ; 
but  where  entrance  is  gained,  the  first  man  who  crosses 
the  threshold  treats  the  family  to  whiskey,  and  the 
midnight  callers  all  expect  to  be  treated  in  return. 
The  idea  is  that  the  "  first  foot "  in  a  house  on  the 
New  Year  brings  it  good  luck,  provided  there  is  an 
accompaniment  of  mutual  treating. 

But  "  First  Footin  "  is  only  an  incident  at  most, 
and  the  New  Year's  observance  of  Hansel  Monday 
is  of  much  more  consequence.  This  is  the  first 
Monday  of  January,  and  translated  into  plain  English 
it  means  "  Present  "  or  "  Token  "  Monday.  Bits  of 
money,  or  small  articles  bought  for  the  purpose,  are 
given  to  the  children,  while  good  feeling  among  their 
elders  is  promoted  by  neighborly  visits,  in  which  they 
lunch  and  drink  a  friendly  glass  together.  In  old 
times  it  was  the  fashion  with  the  arrival  of  each  caller 
to   get  out  a  great  kebbock  (cheese)  and  hand  it  to 


76  The  Land  of  Heather 

the  visitor,  who  put  it  on  his  knee  and  cut  off  what 
he  wanted  to  eat.  Now,  all  callers  are  treated  to 
short-bread,  and  every  housekeeper  lays  in  a  goodly 
supply  of  it  the  week  preceding.  Probably  no  one 
anticipates  Hansel  Monday  with  more  pleasure  than 
the  lass  who  delivers  the  mail ;  for  her  faithful  services 
during  the  year  are  then  remembered  by  the  bestowal 
of  many  little  presents  of  money,  when  she  makes  her 
rounds.  In  the  evening  there  is  generally  a  dancing 
party  in  the  schoolhouse,  with  a  fiddler  to  furnish 
music,  and  the  merriment  continues  till  daylight. 

The  next  notable  day  is  one  appointed  in  February 
for  a  ploughing  match.  At  eight  o'clock  on  the  day 
selected,  sixteen  ploughs  are  ready  for  the  contest  in 
a  big  field  on  one  of  the  large  farms.  No  end  of  men 
are  present  from  all  the  country  around  to  look  on 
and  to  partake  of  the  refreshments,  both  sohd  and 
fluid,  furnished  the  crowd  by  the  farmer  on  whose 
land  the  match  takes  place.  Each  team  is  to  plough 
a  half  acre,  and  the  work  continues  well  into  the  after- 
noon. At  the  close  of  the  contest  the  judges  make 
the  awards  and  distribute  the  prizes.  One  prize  is 
for  the  man  who  finishes  first,  another  for  the  one  with 
the  best  horses,  another  for  the  oldest,  and  one  for 
the  youngest  ploughman,  one  for  the  tidiest  dressed 
ploughman,  one  for  the  ploughman  with  the  largest 
family,  etc.     If  a  man  did  not  excel  in  one  way  he  was 


LoGiE  Ruin 


A  Rural  Hamlet  ^2 

tower  up  overhead  and  make  the  glade  below  very- 
shadowy  and  quiet  save  for  the  unceasing  ripple  of 
the  near  stream  ;  and  the  day  I  was  there  the  stillness 
and  wildness  of  the  spot  were  accentuated  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  little  mouse  that  crept  in  and  out  of  the 
crannies  of  the  stone  heap. 

As  I  was  loitering  along  the  path  on  my  way  back 
to  Logic  House  I  was  overtaken  by  an  old  shepherd 
with  a  crook  in  his  hands  and  a  collie  at  his  heels. 

"  It's  vera  warum  thae  day,"  he  remarked  by  way 
of  greeting. 

The  Drumtochty  folk  never  said  "  Good  morning," 
or,  "Good  afternoon,"  but  instead  made  some  com- 
ment on  the  weather,  declaring  it  was  warum,  cauld, 
stormy,  or  whatever  it  happened  to  be  at  the  moment. 
Their  statements  did  not  always  seem  very  literal. 
For  instance,  "stormy"  simply  meant  windy,  while 
"  rain  "  was  a  term  only  used  to  express  the  super- 
lative. The  drops  might  be  falling  thick  and  fast, 
and  yet  a  man  responding  to  a  friend  who  had 
mentioned  that  it  was  "  Shoorie  like,"  would  be  apt 
to  say,  "  Ay,  Tammas,  but  there'll  no  be  ony  rain." 

A  rain  in  Scotland  means  an  all-day  downpour. 
This  kindly  view  of  the  weather  was  further  illus- 
trated by  their  calling  any  day  "  fair,"  no  matter  how 
gloomily  clouded  the  sky,  so  long  as  there  was  no 
actual    precipitation.      According  to   the   shoemaker's 


34  The  Land  of  Heather 

wife,  if  on  a  threatening  day  the  water  drops  had  de- 
scended "to  the  roof  o'  the  hoose  and  werena  come 
doon  to  the  ground  yet,  we  wad  say  it  was  fair  — 
fair,  but  a  bit  dull  like." 

The  old  shepherd  showed  an  inclination  to  be  so- 
ciable, and  I  kept  on  in  his  company.  He  said  his 
age  was  eighty,  but  that  he  still  kept  at  his  work  and 
walked  many  miles  daily.  Nearly  all  his  long  life  had 
been  spent  in  tramping  the  Drumtochty  moorlands 
within  a  narrow  radius  of  his  home.  But  there  had 
been  one  journey  to  the  outside  world  that  took  him 
as  far  as  the  royal  castle  at  Balmoral.  He  recalled 
this  trip  with  peculiar  pleasure  and  animation.  He 
advised  me  that  I  must  not  fail  to  see  the  castle,  too, 
and  he  would  recommend  that  I  should  view  it  from 
a  certain  hill.  Seen  thence  he  declared  it  did  look 
beautiful  and  "  stood  up  juist  as  white  and  fine  as  a 
new-starched  shirt." 

On  his  visit  to  Balmoral  the  shepherd  had  seen  a 
man  who  was  making  a  tour  of  Scotland  exhibiting 
his  prowess  as  an  archer,  "  and  he  was  an  Ameerican, 
like  yourseF,"  the  shepherd  explained  —  "a  cannibal, 
aye,  one  o'  them  Injun  fellers." 

Then  he  told  of  one  of  his  relatives  who  had  lived 
in  America  and  now  had  returned  to  his  native  Scot- 
land, and  who  said  that  nothing  could  induce  him  to 
marry  an    American    woman.     Rather    than    that    he 


A  Rural  Hamlet 


35 


would  "  coom  awa*  hame  and  marry  a  tinker  (gypsy), 
because  thae  Ameerican  weemen's  na  Strang.  Their 
lungs  gang  awa'  frae  them." 

It  was  the  shepherd's  impression  that  we  Ameri- 
cans still  lived  in  the  midst  of  the  primeval  forests, 
through  which  roamed  all  sorts  of  savage  and  raven- 
ous beasts.  He  made  particular  inquiry  about  our 
American  snakes,  and  said  he  had  been  told  about  a 
"sarpint"  twelve  feet  long,  and  he  understood  that 
such  "  sarpints "  crawled  into  our  houses  and  under 
our  beds ! 


Conducting  her  Coo  to  Pasture 


II 


VILLAGE  HAPPENINGS 


I 


N  a  grass-plot 
at  the  borders 
of  many  of 
the  Drumtochty 
gardens  was  a  well 
that  served  for  two 
or  three  neighbor- 
ing families.  It 
would  be  eight  or 
ten  feet  deep,  and 
was   covered   by  a 

large  flat  stone  that 
Cuddling  for  Trout  j^^    i^^^j    ^j^j^    ^^^ 

ground.  This  stone  had  a  hole  in  the  middle,  four- 
teen or  fifteen  inches  in  diameter,  and  the  hole  was 
protected  by  a  slab  of  wood.  Water  was  drawn  by 
means  of  a  pail  with  a  rope  attached.  I  think  I  never 
saw  a  man  drawing  or  carrying  water  except  Auld 
Robbie  Rober'son,  who  lived  alone.  It  was  woman's 
work.     Every   day   I    noticed   several  of  the   women 

36 


Village  Happenings  3y 

burdened  with  their  pails  pass  my  lodgings  on  their 
way  home  from  a  well  next  door.  The  husbands  never 
thought  of  relieving  their  wives  even  when  their  own 
day's  labor  was  over  and  they  were  sitting  smoking 
their  pipes  and  lazily  visiting  on  the  street  walls.  Nor 
did  it  apparently  ever  occur  to  the  women  that  the 
task  was  otherwise  than  distinctly  theirs.  Its  pre- 
ordained character  was  not,  however,  as  clear  to  me, 
and  one  day  I  started  to  draw  a  pailful  at  the  next- 
door  well.  "  Granny,"  the  shoemaker's  mother,  whose 
years  were  more  than  fourscore,  caught  me  in  the  act, 
and  came  hurrying  out  from  the  house  much  shocked 
that  I,  a  man,  and  a  lodger  at  that,  should  attempt 
such  a  thing.  She  took  the  rope  from  me  and  insisted 
on  doing  the  work  herself 

Drawing  water  was  not  the  only  outdoor  task  which 
fell  to  the  lot  of  the  women.  In  several  instances  a 
village  family  owned  a  cow,  and  the  housewife  fed  and 
milked  it  in  the  byre,  and  led  it  to  and  from  pasture. 
The  pig-pen,  too,  was  included  in  the  feminine  sphere, 
and  when  it  needed  replenishing  the  woman  thought 
nothing  of  walking  off  several  miles  and  bringing  home 
a  small  porker  in  a  bag  slung  over  her  shoulder. 

I  observed  that  at  many  of  the  houses  the  weekly 
washing  was  done  in  the  narrow  hallways,  no  doubt 
owing  to  the  overcrowded  condition  of  the  small 
kitchens  ;  but  not  a  few  women  preferred  to  make  the 


3  8  The  Land  of  Heather 

task  an  open-air  one.  In  that  case  the  tubs  were  set 
up  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  near  by  a  fire  was 
started,  and  over  it  was  hung  the  big  black  pot  in 
which  was  heated  a  supply  of  water.  The  drying 
which  followed  the  cleansing  was  sometimes  accom- 
phshed  by  hanging  the  clothes  on  lines,  but  more 
often  they  were  spread  on  the  grass  or  trailed  over  the 
hedges.  When  the  wash  was  taken  in,  the  starched 
things  were  sorted  out,  while  the  rest  —  the  towels, 
underwear,  and  sheets  —  were  carefully  folded  and 
placed  in  a  pile  on  the  floor,  and  a  cloth  laid  over  them. 
On  this  pile  the  housewife  stood  while  she  ironed  the 
starched  goods,  and  by  the  time  she  had  finished,  the 
clothes  beneath  her  feet  were  pressed  so  smooth  that 
to  iron  them  would  have  been  superfluous. 

June  was  the  most  notable  month  of  the  washer- 
women's year,  for  that  is  the  time  of  the  "  blanket- 
scouring."  The  work  could  be  executed  after  a  fashion 
indoors,  but  the  approved  Scotch  method  is  to  put  the 
blankets  in  a  tub  and  tramp  them  clean  with  bare  feet, 
and  it  is  essential  that  there  should  be  plenty  of  water 
and  likewise  plenty  of  elbow-room.  Therefore  nearly 
every  Drumtochty  housewife  seeks  the  burn  in  the 
Free  Kirk  hollow  when  she  feels  inspired  to  undertake 
the  blanket-washing.  Usually  two  neighbors  combine 
in  doing  the  work.  A  fire  is  built  by  the  streamside, 
and  a  great  pot  of  water  is  suspended  over  it.      Later 


A   Village  Well 


Village   Happenings  39 

the  women  trundle  down  several  tubs  on  their  rude 
barrows,  and  return  for  the  blankets,  which  they  bring, 
loaded  in  great  heaps  on  the  barrows,  with  a  generous 
supply  of  soap-bars  on  top.  When  everything  is 
ready,  the  workers  remove  their  shoes  and  stockings, 
step  into  the  tubs,  and  tread  and  splash  the  soapy  water 
about  with  great  energy.  This  tub  dance  is  kept  up, 
with  occasional  intermissions  to  turn  the  blankets  or 
add  fresh  water,  until  the  blankets  are  thoroughly  clean. 
Now  follows  wringing  —  a  hand-twisting  process  in 
which  two  women  work  together.  Then  the  blankets 
are  spread  on  the  grass  to  dry.  The  whole  operation 
seemed  to  me  curiously  primitive,  but  by  the  Drum- 
tochty  folk  it  was  considered  the  simplest,  most  natural, 
and  best  way  to  do  such  work  that  could  be  devised, 
and  they  asked  me  with  wonder  if  we  did  not  scour 
our  blankets  the  same  way  in  America. 

One  result  of  the  outdoor  toil  which  fell  to  the  lot 
of  the  village  mothers  was  that  they  often  had  to  leave 
their  children  to  take  care  of  themselves.  Even  when 
the  mothers  were  at  home,  the  crowded  inconvenience 
of  the  living  rooms  made  the  house  interior  a  poor 
place  for  youthful  amusement,  and  in  fair  weather  the 
children  for  the  most  part  sought  the  street. 

The  road  was  gritty  macadam,  hard  on  shoes  and 
harder  still  on  the  toddlers'  arms  and  shins,  which  the 
prevailing  fashion  in  British  infant  garments  left  bare. 


40  The  Land  of  Heather 

Conditions  did  not  favor  ideal  cleanUness,  and  on  days 
when  they  were  not  in  school  the  children  were  apt  to 
accumulate  dirt  in  a  way  that  would  make  a  respectable 
pig  ashamed  of  himself.  The  majority  of  them  ran 
around  barefooted  and  bareheaded,  and  often  were  on 
the  street  or  about  the  fields  from  early  morning  till 
late  evening.  No  doubt  these  long  doses  of  outdoor 
air  and  sunshine  added  materially  to  their  hardiness, 
for  as  a  rule  they  were  healthy  and  rosy-cheeked,  and 
I  wondered  if  there  would  not  be  more  color  in  the 
cheeks  of  our  American  children  if  they  were  turned 
loose  in  something  the  same  manner. 

The  Drumtochty  children  all  hated  to  wear  shoes, 
but  there  were  certain  of  the  parents  who  thought  that 
an  unshod  child  lacked  a  little  of  complete  respectabil- 
ity. The  shoemaker  was  one  of  these,  and  he  told 
Jamie,  greatly  to  the  latter's  grief,  not  to  go  barefoot 
to  school.  Jamie  was  in  most  ways  faithful  and  obedi- 
ent, but  this  was  a  trifle  too  much,  and  often  he  was  no 
sooner  out  of  sight  of  the  house  than  he  slipped  off  his 
shoes  and  hid  them  behind  a  dyke  (stone  wall).  He 
would  resume  them  when  he  returned  from  school  in 
the  afternoon,  and  thus  things  continued  until  one  day 
he  forgot  where  he  had  left  them.  He  searched  in  vain, 
and  had  to  come  home  barefoot.  As  a  consequence  his 
father  laid  down  the  law  more  strictly  than  ever,  and 
Jamie  appeared  in  school  shod  afterward. 


Village  Happenings  41 

For  the  mothers  who  lived  in  the  front  row  of  the 
village  the  roadway  playground  was  very  well  situated. 
It  was  always  under  their  eyes,  and  they  were  often 
stepping  out  to  make  sure  the  bairns  were  still  in 
sight,  and  perhaps  to  order  them  in  if  they  were  get- 
ting unruly  or  quarrelsome.  Sometimes  the  interfer- 
ence was  for  a  lesser  reason,  as  when  my  landlady, 
observing  Cathie  stand  still  and  try  to  get  some- 
thing from  beneath  her  clothing  at  the  back  of  her 
neck,  called  out,  "Coom  here,  Cathie,  what's  the 
maitter  wi*  ye  ?  " 

"  There's  soomthin'  doon  ma  neik,"  replied  the 
little  girl. 

"  Then  coom  into  the  hoose  this  minute,"  com- 
manded her  mother.  "  It's  like  it's  soom  beast.  I'll 
na  hae  ye  pullin'  at  yer  claes  on  the  street." 

Just  as  she  was  starting  off  with  Cathie,  she  noticed 
a  little  fellow  standing  somewhat  aside  from  the  others, 
with  a  handkerchief  bound  about  his  face,  and  she 
paused  to  ask,  "  What's  the  maitter  wi'  your  haid  ?  " 

"  Ma  haid's  swuUed  wi'  the  buffets  "  (mumps),  was 
the  doleful  reply. 

"  Coom,  Cathie,"  exclaimed  the  shoemaker's  wife,  in 
greater  trepidation  than  ever  ;  "  hurry,  lass  !  Div  ye  no 
hear  that  ?  Buffets  and  beasts  too  !  Ye  maun  stay 
indoors   wi'   me  !  " 

A  stile  in  the  stone  wall,  across  the  road,  was  the 


42  The  Land  of  Heather 

source  of  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  to  the  younger 
children.  No  monkey  ever  got  more  enjoyment  out 
of  the  perch  in  his  cage,  or  went  through  more  antics 
on  it,  than  these  little  Scots  did,  on  the  stile  opposite 
my  window.  When  they  tired  of  this,  they  swung  on 
the  limbs  of  the  plane  trees  that  grew  along  the  wall, 
or  they  went  for  a  ramble  after  flowers  in  the  field 
beyond.  Most  of  this  field  over  the  wall  had  been 
ridged  for  "  neeps,"  but  it  was  cut  in  twain  by  a  deep 
ravine  or  "  den  "  where  grew  thorny  tangles  of  furze, 
and  where,  every  June,  countless  wild-rose  bushes  out- 
stretched their  slender  arms,  piled  high  with  blushing 
bloom.  Indeed,  the  shrubbery  and  weeds  grew  so 
rankly  that  the  depths  of  the  den  were  quite  choked 
and  impassable.  The  children  Hked  to  roam  around 
this  ravine,  and  tumble  on  its  sunny  patches  of  grass, 
while  they  sorted  their  flowers,  or  busied  their  tongues 
with  their  small  chatter ;  or,  it  may  be,  forgot  all  else 
in  careering  down  a  clay  bank,  where  they  had  worn  a 
smooth,  slippery  slide. 

The  upper  edge  of  the  den,  on  one  side,  was  rimmed 
with  a  narrow  path  that  led  far  down  the  brae,  into  the 
valley  of  the  Tochty.  Near  the  stream,  in  an  amphi- 
theatre of  grassy  bluffs,  was  a  bit  of  level  meadow 
where  the  men  of  Drumtochty  were  wont  to  play 
kites  (quoits).  Saturday  was  the  great  day  for  the 
game,  as  the  final  afternoon  of  the  week  is  a  holiday 


Washing  by  the   Burnside 


Village  Happenings  43 

among  Scotch  artisans  and  tradespeople,  and  a  large 
part  of  the  village  men  were  then  free  to  use  their  time 
as  they  pleased.  I  had  the  chance  to  see  a  match 
game  one  Saturday.  It  was  between  the  local  club  of  the 
clachan  and  that  of  the  neighboring  hamlet  of  Nether- 
aird.  The  Netheraird  team  arrived  in  a  brake  at  four 
o'clock  and  was  taken  at  once  up  to  the  inn.  The 
horses  were  put  out,  and  the  men  all  betook  them- 
selves to  the  bar,  to  get  a  dram.  I  was  told  that  with- 
out a  dram  it  was  impossible  for  a  kiter  to  play. 
After  a  liberal  allowance  of  time  for  social  chaffing  and 
drinking  at  the  public,  the  players  went  rambling  over 
the  stile  opposite  the  shoemaker's,  and  on  down  the 
brae  to  the  playground.  The  several  circles  of  earth 
that  were  to  serve  as  targets  had  already  been  prepared, 
and  in  the  centre  of  each  of  these  circles  of  freshly 
turned  ground  was  an  iron  pin  that  barely  projected 
into  sight.  The  players,  when  they  pitched  their  kites, 
aimed  for  that  pin. 

When  they  were  ready  to  begin  in  earnest,  the  men 
got  off  their  coats  and  vests,  and  groups  of  lookers-on 
gathered  about  each  dirt  goal.  Others,  less  intent,  lay 
down  on  the  near  bank,  where  thickets  of  broom 
spread  away  up  the  hill.  At  one  time  the  threaten- 
ing clouds  rose  darkly  in  the  west,  and  we  had  a  spat- 
ter of  rain  ;  but  this  did  not  in  the  least  interrupt  the 
game,  and   the  shower   quickly   blew  eastward  and  a 


44  The   Land  of  Heather 

double  rainbow  came  out  of  the  disappearing  storm. 
The  players  were  matched  in  groups  of  four,  two  on  a 
side,  and  each  of  the  opponent  couples  had  a  coach. 
The  coach  was  a  man  with  a  pencil  in  his  hand,  and 
his  pockets  full  of  paper  slips  on  which  to  keep  tally. 
But  the  slips  were  used  mostly  to  guide  the  throwers. 
The  coach  sticks  one  up  in  the  dirt  right  by  the  pin, 
and  shouts  out,  "  Div  ye  see  that  paper  ?  That's 
your  spot  noo,  lad.  Be  there  for  the  life  o'  ye, 
Wullie  !  " 

Wullie  throws,  and  the  coach,  bending  eagerly  for- 
ward with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  thinks  the  kite  is 
coming  all  right,  and  shouts, "  I  like  ye  !  " 

But  the  kite  falls  short,  and  the  watcher  jumps 
into  the  air  and  waves  his  arms  distractedly  and  says, 
"  Ahh  !  "  as  though  it  was  his  last  gasp.  "  Ye're  a 
fut  too  weak,"  he  calls  across  the  field.  "  Ye're  lazy, 
mon." 

The  other  side  now  has  a  turn,  and  Wullie's  coach 
subsides  into  a  watchful  but  calm  spectator.  Wullie, 
however,  no  sooner  poises  his  ring  for  a  cast  than  the 
coach  springs  forward,  all  on  fire  with  eager  intentness. 
He  sets  a  fresh  paper  up  in  the  dirt,  puts  his  hands 
on  each  side  of  it  to  make  the  spot  exact,  and  says ; 
"  Noo,  Wullie,  dirty  that  paper.  There's  plenty  o' 
room  here.     Ye  c'n  dae  it.     Noo,  be  sure  !  " 

The    quoit   comes  flying  through  the  air,  and  the 


Village  Happenings  45 

watcher  leaps  aside  and  makes  a  gesture  of  despair 
when  it  strikes  the  farther  edge  of  the  circle.  "Aw," 
he  cries,  "  ye' re  Strang,  mon  —  Oh,  big  a'  thegither  ! 
For  the  love  o'  guidness,  Wullie,  pu*  up  ! " 

So  the  game  goes  on,  each  side  as  excited  as  if  the 
fate  of  the  nation  depended  on  their  winning.  But 
the  excitement  was  superlative  only  on  the  part  of  the 
coaches,  for  the  players  saved  their  energies  for  care- 
ful pitching  of  the  rings.  As  for  the  onlookers,  they 
were  in  the  main  quiet  observers,  most  of  the  men  judi- 
cially puffing  at  their  pipes.  No  ladies  were  present. 
Women  do  not  attend  games  in  the  Scotch  country, 
and  you  see  no  one  feminine  either  at  quoits  or  at  the 
favorite  winter  game  of  curling. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  contest  all  the  players  went 
up  to  the  inn,  where  the  home  club  furnished  a  supper. 
The  repast  was  simple — just  cold  meat,  bread,  cookies, 
and  a  mug  of  beer  apiece.  But  this  was  only  a  pre- 
liminary. Treating  was  in  order  after  the  lunch  had 
been  disposed  of,  songs  were  called  for,  and  the  merry- 
making went  on  till  the  inn-closing  time  at  ten  o'clock. 

Perhaps  the  most  important  public  event  I  wit- 
nessed in  Drumtochty  was  an  evening  political  meet- 
ing in  the  schoolyard.  When  I  arrived  I  found 
standing  at  the  roadside,  close  by  the  playground 
fence,  a  van  something  like  a  very  substantial  gypsy 
wagon.     It  was  painted  in  the  gayest  of  colors,  and  its 


46  The  Land  of  Heather 

name,  "  The  Thistle,"  was  conspicuous  in  fancy  letters 
on  its  sides,  while  the  British  flag  was  flying  from  a 
pole  hoisted  on  the  front  of  the  car,  giving  the  con- 
veyance an  agreeable  air  of  patriotism.  In  this  van 
two  men  made  their  home  and  travelled  through  the 
country,  months  at  a  time,  distilling  wisdom  among 
the  rural  folk  all  along  their  route.  The  horse  that 
drew  the  van  had  been  detached,  and  a  platform  had 
been  let  down  over  the  shafts.  The  speakers,  two 
stout,  red-faced  men,  who  looked  like  hearty  eaters 
and  hard  drinkers,  had  descended  from  their  domicile 
and  were  conversing  with  a  knot  of  farmers. 

After  a  little,  one  of  the  orators  requested  such 
of  the  audience  as  were  loitering  in  the  roadway  or 
perched  on  adjoining  stone  walls  to  go  into  the  play- 
ground, where  a  number  of  backless  benches  from  the 
schoolroom  were  grouped  to  serve  the  assemblage  for 
seats.  There  were  thirty  or  forty  of  us  in  all,  mostly 
men  and  boys,  but  including  two  women  and  a  small 
girl.  The  meeting  was  rather  an  informal  affair,  and 
some  of  the  listeners  had  pipes  lit  and  continued  to 
puff  at  them  from  beginning  to  end.  First  a  chair- 
man was  elected,  and  the  old  farmer  chosen  stepped 
out,  cane  in  hand,  and  made  a  few  rambling  remarks 
intended  to  be  introductory.  Then  one  of  the  red- 
faced  men  gave  us  a  talk  from  the  car  platform  over 
the    dyke.     He  sympathized  with  the  farmers,  who, 


Village   Happenings  47 

he  declared,  were  overtaxed,  and  he  hoped  and  be- 
lieved things  would  soon  be  remedied.  The  second 
speaker  said  the  same  at  more  or  less  length,  and 
then  took  up  the  matter  of  disestablishing  the  Scotch 
church,  which  was  a  measure  that  he  by  no  means 
approved.  The  audience  had  found  the  overtaxation 
talk  interesting  and  much  to  its  liking,  but  there  were 
many  dissenters  present  to  whom  the  speaker's  oppo- 
sition to  disestablishment  was  not  palatable.  Presently 
a  man  got  up  and  said  they  wanted  to  hear  about 
political  matters  —  they  hadn't  come  there  to  hear 
about  the  kirks.  This  led  to  some  sharp  bandying, 
with  laughter  and  cheering  from  the  audience.  In  the 
end  the  speaker  went  on  in  his  own  way,  and  at  the 
close  of  his  peroration  there  were  votes  of  thanks  all 
around,  and  applause,  and  promises  on  the  part  of  the 
orators  to  come  again  in  the  autumn.  I  cannot  say 
that  I  had  been  much  impressed  by  their  arguments, 
and  I  thought  they  were  taken  more  seriously  than 
they  deserved.  Their  chief  talent  was  a  certain  fluency 
and  aptitude  for  talking  in  public.  This  saved  them 
from  dulness  if  it  did  not  from  shallowness,  and  I 
suppose  what  they  said  had  some  effect. 

These  political  speechmakers  were  the  aristocrats  of 
the  road,  and  probably  would  not  acknowledge  any 
kinship  to  the  "  tinkers,"  even  when  the  latter  travelled 
in  vans  of  the  same  type  as  theirs.     Not  all  tinkers 


48  The  Land  of  Heather 

had  vans,  however,  for  the  term  "  tinker  "  was  used  to 
include  all  persons  without  a  fixed  abode  —  gypsies, 
beggars,  tramps,  and  pedlers.  Of  the  many  represent- 
atives of  these  humble  knights  of  the  highway  who 
visited  Drumtochty  the  gypsies  were  the  best  equipped 
and  often  carried  a  considerable  amount  of  merchan- 
dise. I  recall  one  van  so  hung  over  and  piled  up  with 
basket-ware  that  hardly  a  glimpse  was  to  be  had  of 
the  original  vehicle.  The  structure  towered  aloft  in 
a  most  astonishing  and  topheavy  manner.  Its  pro- 
prietor gave  his  energies  to  driving  the  horse,  while 
his  wife,  loaded  with  various  chairs  and  flower-stands 
and  other  trappings,  went  from  house  to  house  trying 
to  make  sales.  A  half-grown  girl  sat  in  the  doorway 
of  the  car  with  a  baby  of  three  weeks  in  her  arms,  and 
several  other  children  played  around  inside  and  out. 
I  did  not  count  these  youngsters,  but  the  man  told  me 
he  had  eight  children  in  all.  He  said  he  travelled  all 
over  the  island,  and  that  he  had  a  smaller  cart  that  was 
following  behind.  I  looked  inside  the  van  and  found 
it  crowded  with  shelves  and  cupboards,  used  for  storage 
and  sleeping  space,  with  a  few  feet  reserved  in  one 
corner  for  a  small  open  fireplace. 

Often  two  or  three  of  the  tinkers  known  as  "  pack 
folk "  would  pass  through  the  place  in  a  single  day. 
They  carried  their  personal  belongings  and  stock  in 
trade  on  their  backs,  and  I  heard  the  village  postmaster 


Village  Happenings  49 

in  a  moment  of  humor  refer  to  them  as  "  commercial 
trivellers."  At  best  they  were  considered  a  nuisance, 
and  at  worst,  when  they  were  coarse  and  drunken,  it 
was  decidedly  unpleasant  to  find  them  within  one's 
home  gate.  A  man  tramp  was  likely  to  have  a  power- 
ful odor  of  whiskey  about  him,  and  ten  to  one  the 
drink  had  made  him  the  tramp  he  was.  Late  in  the 
day  he,  with  his  pack  and  an  empty  bottle,  was  very 
apt  to  be  found  lying  by  the  roadside  dead  drunk. 
He  might  even  spend  the  night  there  in  the  ditch. 

The  line  separating  pedlers  from  beggars  was  a 
very  indistinct  one,  and  the  latter  usually  made  some 
pretence  of  having  the  vocation  of  the  former,  for  beg- 
ging pure  and  simple  is  unlawful.  The  women  were 
the  most  inveterate  of  the  beggars.  They  never  lacked 
a  pitiful  tale  to  tell,  and  they  had  a  whining,  decrepit 
way  at  the  door,  not  much  in  keeping  with  the  vigor 
one  would  fancy  was  required  for  the  amount  of  walk- 
ing they  did.  In  many  instances  the  female  tinker  had 
a  baby  in  her  arms,  half  supported  from  her  shoulders 
by  a  shawl  that  was  wound  around  both  her  and  the 
child.  Besides  the  baby  she  would  carry  a  bundle  in 
one  hand  and  a  heavy  basket  on  her  back,  that  in  part 
at  least  contained  goods  for  sale.  Yet  she  does  not 
thus  burden  herself  so  much  in  the  hope  of  profit  as 
to  keep  within  the  letter  of  the  law,  and  though  she 
goes  through  the  form  of  attempting  to  trade  at  each 


50  The  Land  of  Heather 

house,  it  is  only  by  way  of  preface  to  her  requests  for 
"  a  drawing  of  tea/'  a  bite  to  eat,  and  a  charitable  penny 
or  bit  of  silver.  Certain  of  the  men  tramps  dispensed 
with  the  packs  of  notions  altogether  and  lived  by  their 
wits;  but  none  of  the  tinkers  was  accounted  especially 
dangerous  or  dishonest.  Still,  "  ye  maun  keep  an  eye 
open  the  whiles  they're  aroon." 

One  "gaein'  aboot  body"  with  whom  I  talked  was 
a  dirty  old  woman  who  greeted  me  one  day  from  a 
wayside  heap  of  road  metal  (broken  stone)  on  which 
she  was  resting.  She  had  been  carrying  a  big  bundle 
strapped  to  her  shoulders,  but  had  loosened  it  for  the 
moment.  In  addition  she  had  with  her  a  dangling 
bunch  of  rabbit  skins  that  she  had  taken  in  exchange 
trades  with  farmers'  wives.  A  wretched  specimen  of  a 
shoe  lay  in  her  lap,  and  I  noticed  that  one  of  her  feet 
had  no  covering  save  a  frayed  stocking.  She  explained 
that  the  shoe  was  burst  out  and  would  keep  slipping 
off,  and  it  was  easier  to  take  it  along  in  her  hand  than 
it  was  to  wear  it.  She  said  she  was  only  four  weeks 
out  of  the  poorhouse,  where  she  had  been  laid  up  all 
winter  with  her  liver.  She  was  hardly  able  to  get 
about,  but  she  would  rather  do  almost  anything  than 
bide  in  the  workhouse  ;  so  she  was  trying  to  earn  a  few 
pennies  peddling  with  her  pack.  She  had  seven  chil- 
dren. Some  were  in  Australia,  some  in  South  Africa, 
and  one  in  America,  and  there  was  another,  a  son,  who 


Oluii^  —  A   Dispute 


Village  Happenings  51 

had  been  "  misfortunit,  and  had  to  run  awa',*'  and  she 
did  not  know  where  he  was.  A  daughter  had  married 
well  and  was  living  in  Aberdeen,  and  the  daughter 
knew  her  mother's  need,  and  so  did  some  of  the  other 
children,  but  none  of  them  offered  her  help,  and  she 
would  rather  die  than  ask  it  of  them.  She  heaved  a 
sigh,  gave  her  nose  a  dicht  (wipe),  took  up  the  rabbit 
skins,  and  shifted  her  bundle  up  to  her  shoulders. 
Then  she  rose  stiffly  from  the  stone  heap,  and  I  watched 
her  melancholy  figure  hobble  away  down  the  road. 

Another  tramp  who  interested  me  was  a  tall  man 
with  a  touch  of  the  dandy  in  the  tilt  of  his  hat  and  the 
curl  of  his  long  mustache.  He  said  he  was  a  clock- 
maker,  and  that  he  had  been  a  soldier.  He  pulled 
back  his  sleeve  and  showed  an  arm  covered  with  blue 
tattooing.  The  man's  son,  a  slender,  pinch-faced  little 
boy,  accompanied  him,  and  bore  a  pack  just  like  his 
father's,  only  smaller.  The  man  was  a  hard  drinker, 
and  one  could  not  but  pity  the  lad  tied  to  such  a  com- 
panion. The  village  people  declared  the  man  "  gaed 
the  wee  laddie  great  lickin's,"  which  was  the  more  dis- 
tressing because  the  boy  seemed  a  quiet  little  fellow, 
and  not  at  all  vicious. 

Toward  the  end  of  June  there  was  a  funeral  in  the 
clachan.  It  was  a  day  of  rain,  and  my  window  in 
the  shoemaker's  parlor  was  blurred  with  the  drive  of 
the  storm,  and  the  hills  beyond  the  hollow  where  the 


52  The  Land  of  Heather 

Tochty  flowed  were  half  misted  from  sight.  The  wind 
blew  and  kept  the  branches  of  the  row  of  trees  across 
the  road  tossing,  and  made  a  lonely  sound  about  the 
eaves.  I  could  hear  the  sparrows  chirping  forlornly 
somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  dwellings,  and 
now  and  then  I  saw  a  gull  flap  down  on  one  of  the 
farm  fields  beyond  the  highway. 

The  funeral  was  that  of  an  old  man  who  had  died 
two  days  before,  and  this  afternoon  the  men  of  the 
place  put  on  their  "  Sabbath  blacks "  and  gathered 
about  the  door  of  the  old  man's  dwelhng.  Not  many 
of  them  went  inside,  for  the  house  was  small  and  would 
accommodate  few  besides  the  relatives.  It  stood  on 
the  lane  that  led  up  to  the  inn  on  the  back  row,  and  a 
sombre  hearse  waited  at  the  corner.  When  the  short 
house  service  was  concluded,  the  men  mourners  pre- 
pared to  walk  to  the  grave.  The  hearse  headed  the 
procession,  and  next  came  the  clergyman  in  his  shovel 
hat,  closely  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  company.  The 
weather  was  so  wet  that  every  one  carried  umbrellas 
and  wore  waterproofs  or  overcoats,  and  thus  the  strag- 
gling group  wended  its  way  down  the  road  toward 
the  burying-groundj  a  good  mile  distant. 

The  bee  expert  of  the  village,  known  as  "  The  Auld 
Lad,"  had  stepped  in  at  the  shoemaker's  to  see  the 
procession  pass,  and  I  said  to  him  it  seemed  too  bad 
the  funeral  should  come  on  so  stormy  a  day ;  but  he 


Gypsies 


Village   Happenings  ^;^ 

thought  it  a  good  omen,  and  said  it  was  an  old  saying 
in  Scotland, — 

**  Happy  is  the  bride  that  the  sun  shines  on. 
Blessed  is  the  corp  that  the  rain  poors  on." 

In  the  Auld  Kirk  churchyard,  which  was  the  place 
of  interment  for  all  the  hamlet,  stood  a  substantial 
stone  shed  that  had  been  pointed  out  to  me  as  the 
"  Deid  Hoose."  It  occurred  to  me  now  to  ask  the 
Auld  Lad  about  this  building.  In  response  he  told 
how,  when  he  was  a  schoolboy,  "  the  students  frae  the 
medical  colleges  used  to  be  liftin'  the  deid  when  they 
were  first  buried." 

For  a  long  time  the  people  all  over  Scotland 
watched  each  newly  made  grave  every  night  during 
several  weeks.  The  watchers  kept  their  vigils  in  twos 
for  the  sake  of  company,  and  they  always  carried  a 
"  load  gun  "  with  them,  and,  what  was  of  hardly  less 
consequence,  a  bottle  of  whiskey  to  alleviate  the  cheer- 
lessness  of  their  occupation.  They  usually  stayed  in 
the  church  or  a  near  house,  looking  out  frequently,  and 
going  now  and  then  to  the  grave.  The  warmth  of 
summer  might  sometimes  tempt  them  to  stand  guard 
outside,  but  "  On  a  winter  nicht  it  was  cauld,  mind 
ye,"  said  the  Auld  Lad,  "  aye,  and  they  didna  care  to 
be  exposit." 

At  last,  to  save  this  close  watching  of  the  graves, 


54  The  Land  of  Heather 

the  dead  house  was  built.  It  had  a  floor  of  sand 
in  which  the  coffins  were  buried  about  two  feet  deep, 
to  be  taken  up  at  the  end  of  five  or  six  weeks  for 
their  final  interment  in  the  kirkyard. 

This  talk  about  the  dead  house  led  the  Auld  Lad 
to  relate  the  following  bit  of  history.  "There  was 
a  wuman,"  said  he,  "the  wife  o'  a  meenister,  and 
the  nicht  aifter  she  was  buried  what  did  the  bedrel 
(sexton)  do  but  dig  doon  to  the  grave  to  get  twa 
reengs  he'd  taken  notice  of  on  her  feenger.  But  when 
he  got  to  the  body,  he  couldna  pu'  the  reengs  afF  the 
feenger,  and  he  was  just  cuttin'  the  feenger  afF  when  the 
wuman  turned  in  her  coffin,  mon,  and  said,  ^  Oh  dear  !  * 

"  Then  she  told  the  bedrel  if  he'd  lat  her  oot, 
she'd  never  tell  on  him ;  and  the  bedrel  said  he 
would  ;  and  he  helped  her  to  the  gate  of  her  hoose, 
and  she  went,  all  in  her  grave-clothes,  and  rappit  on 
the  door.  Her  mon  was  inside,  and  he  sayed,  '  If  ma 
wife  wasna  deid,  I'd  say  that  was  her  rap ;  '  and  he 
opened  the  door,  and  he  lat  her  in,  and  at  the  fricht 
o'  seein'  her  he  fell  richt  ower  backwards.  But  they 
brought  him  roond ;  and  the  wuman  lived  sax  years 
aifter  that,  and  she  had  twa  bairns,  and  one  o'  their 
names  was  Ralph  Erskine  —  and,  mon,  that's  a  true 
story ! " 

About  four  o'clock  of  the  day  of  the  funeral  the  rain 
suddenly  ceased,  and   the   dun   cloud-mass    overhead 


village   Happenings 


S5 


slid  away  into  the  east  and  left  clear  sky  and  sunshine 
behind.  By  evening  the  grass  and  earth  were  nearly 
dry,  and  the  children  were  playing  in  the  roadway  and 
climbing  along  the  dykes.  Women  with  babies  in 
their  arms,  and  women  without,  stood  at  their  gates, 
or  their  neighbor's  gate,  chatting,  and  now  and  then 
a  man  enjoying  a  quiet  pipe  of  tobacco  made  one  in 
a  group. 


Spreading  Blankets  after  the  Wash 


Ill 


THE    WAYS    OF    THE    FARM    FOLK 


T 


iHE     Drum- 

tochty  farm- 
ers complained 
a  good  deal  of  hard 
times,  and  in  the 
last  few  years  their 
profits  had  undoubt- 
edly been  small ;  yet 
they  were  careful, 
hardworking  men, 
and  the  majority  of 
them  had  money 
laid  aside.  Most  of 
the  farmhouses  stood  some  distance  from  the  main 
roads,  at  the  end  of  a  lane.  I  naturally  expected,  when 
I  followed  up  one  of  these  lanes,  that  it  would  lead  me 
to  the  front  door  of  the  house,  but  the  farm  buildings 
were  not  arranged  on  the  American  plan.  The  houses 
turned  their  backs  on  the  public  approaches,  just  as 
the  mansions  of  the  gentry  do,  and  it  was  often  a 
puzzle  to  find  the  front  entrance  at  all. 

56 


A  Servant  Lassie 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  57 

I  came  to  know  many  of  the  farmers,  and  among 
them  one  called  "  Hillocks,'*  who  was  especially 
friendly,  and  at  whose  house  I  was  a  frequent  visitor. 
He  was  in  reality  a  Mr.  Crockett,  but  Hillocks  was 
the  name  of  his  farm,  and  locally  that  was  always  his 
title.  It  was  the  same  on  the  other  farms  of  the 
glen  —  Ballandee,  Clashiegar,  Drumachar,  ShiUigan, 
etc.,  —  their  names  and  the  names  of  their  owners 
were  identical  to  the  neighbors,  and  when  there  was  a 
change  of  tenants  the  new  occupant  was  known  by 
the  old  farm  name,  quite  regardless  of  his  own. 

Hillocks  was  a  good  farmer,  and  he  was  now  very 
well-to-do,  or,  as  the  Scotch  say,  "  had  his  pocket  full 
o'  bawbees  "  (halfpence).  He  v/as  elderly  and  bent, 
and  wore  a  bushy  fringe  of  gray  beard  standing  out 
about  his  face,  and  had  a  stiff  jungle  of  hair,  that 
seemed  to  have  had  no  very  intimate  acquaintance  with 
a  brush  and  comb  of  late.  Although  still  hale  and 
hearty,  he  had  begun  to  feel  the  weight  of  years,  and 
there  were  days  when  he  spent  most  of  his  time  just 
digging  about  the  garden,  or  sitting  by  the  kitchen  fire. 
Yet  he  continued  to  be  the  first  one  up  and  about  in 
the  morning,  and  the  last  one  to  get  to  bed  at  night. 
His  cares  were  many,  both  indoors  and  out,  for  his 
wife  had  been  long  dead,  and  he  was  the  sole  head  of 
the  household. 

I   felt  something  like  an  explorer  of  strange  lands 


58  The  Land  of  Heather 

on  my  initial  visit  to  Hillocks.  The  first  buildings 
I  encountered,  as  I  walked  up  the  lane  to  the  farm- 
house, were  a  huddle  of  low  stone  sheds.  Under 
the  eaves  of  one  of  them,  almost  encroaching  on  the 
wagon-track  of  the  lane,  was  a  manure-heap  with  dark, 
slimy  streams  crawling  away  from  it  across  the  roadway 
to  a  green,  offensive  pool,  where  the  farm  ducks  were 
nosing  and  paddling.  By  going  between  two  of  the 
sheds  I  entered  the  farm  "  close,"  a  bare  earth  yard 
walled  in  on  three  sides  by  the  house  and  its  outbuild- 
ings. A  pet  lamb  with  a  bell  tied  to  its  neck  ran  out 
of  the  kitchen  door  to  investigate  me,  and  some 
loitering  hens  sidled  about  doubtfully,  ready  to  take 
flight  if  I  proved  aggressive.  Several  heavy,  two- 
wheeled  carts,  with  their  shafts  tilted  skyward,  stood 
idle  at  one  side,  and  there  was  a  scattering  of  other 
farm  machines. 

Near  the  back  door  was  a  heavy  old  pump, 
with  an  accompaniment  of  dirty  puddles  and  a 
good  deal  of  unsightly  litter.  I  looked  in  vain  for 
some  other  entrance.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  every  one 
went  in  and  out  this  rear  door,  except  on  the  occasion 
of  a  wedding  or  funeral  or  a  formal  call  from  the 
minister,  and  I  fancy  that  many  of  the  farm  folk  were 
only  half  aware  they  had  such  an  institution  as  a  front 
door.  Even  for  the  minister,  there  was  no  way  to 
approach  it  save  by  going  up  the  lane  past  the  byres 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  59 

and  into  the  close.  A  narrow  gate  in  a  remote  corner 
of  the  close  gave  admittance  to  a  hedged  garden,  as  I 
discovered  later,  and  by  following  a  gravelled  path 
along  the  house  wall  one  reached  the  front  entrance. 
The  garden  was  filled  with  vegetables  and  small  fruits, 
and  there  was  no  lawn.  But,  to  compensate,  the  walks 
were  very  tidy,  and  were  bordered  by  box  and  flower- 
beds, while  the  gray  stone  sides  of  the  house  were 
relieved  by  vines  and  fruit  trees  trained  to  grow  up  on 
them. 

While  I  was  hesitating  in  the  close  on  my  first  visit 
to  Hillocks,  the  housekeeper,  an  intelligent  young 
woman  with  tousled  hair,  appeared  at  the  back  door 
and  ushered  me  and  the  pet  lamb  into  the  kitchen, 
explaining,  as  she  did  so,  that  the  lamb  ran  all  over 
the  house,  upstairs  and  down.  The  room  I  was  in  had 
a  paved  floor,  a  wide  fireplace,  and  deep  windows.  A 
few  lines  of  colored  crockery  on  the  shelves  of  the 
dresser  brightened  the  apartment  a  little,  but  on  the 
whole  it  was  dingy  and  dark,  and  devoid  of  ornament. 
The  tables  and  chairs  were  as  plain  as  it  was  possible 
to  make  them,  and  the  tops  of  the  former  were  half 
worn  away  with  use  and  scouring. 

Some  lumps  of  soft  coal  were  burning  in  the  fire- 
place, and  to  hasten  the  fire  the  housekeeper  added 
several  crooked  sticks  of  wood  which  showed  a  per- 
verse tendency  to  roll  out  half  burned  on  the  floor, 


6o  The  Land  of  Heather 

keeping  the  room  dusky  with  smoke.  Suspended 
from  the  crane  was  a  big  girdle  (a  thin  disk  of  iron 
sixteen  or  eighteen  inches  across,  with  a  bail),  on  which 
the  housekeeper  was  baking  scones.  Scones  are  great 
round  cakes  as  large  as  a  dinner  plate  and  about  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch  thick.  They  are  something  like 
soda  biscuit,  but  are  tougher,  and  are  best  eaten  cold. 
In  looks  they  are  not  at  all  dainty,  nor  even  attractive, 
yet  spread  with  butter  and  jam  they  are  very  palatable. 

I  went  in  search  of  Hillocks  presently.  He  was  at 
the  barn  where  the  threshing-mill  was  running.  Power 
was  furnished  by  a  long-armed  turnabout,  outdoors,  to 
which  four  horses  were  attached.  A  man  sat  high  on 
the  hub  of  the  contrivance,  and  as  he  revolved,  en- 
couraged the  horses  with  a  long  whip.  Within  the 
barn,  up  in  a  dusty  loft,  I  found  Hillocks,  assisted  by 
a  boy  and  a  wild-looking  girl,  putting  unthreshed  oats 
into  the  mill,  while  down  below  were  several  men 
taking  care  of  the  straw  and  oats  as  they  came  out. 
The  work  was  nearly  done,  and  soon  Hillocks  accom- 
panied me  into  the  house.  He  was  hospitahty  itself. 
"  Ye're  as  welcome  as  the  mornin',"  he  declared,  and 
when  he  discovered  that  the  old  dwelling  interested 
me,  he  showed  me  all  over  it. 

"  If  I  veesited  America,"  said  he,  "  ye'd  shaw  me 
all  o'  your  hoose,  noo,  wouldn't  ye  ?  Well,  then,  I'll 
lat  ye  see  all  o'  mine." 


Neighbor; 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  6i 

It  was  an  ancient  and  ill-arranged  structure,  and 
disorder  and  bareness  reigned  undisputed.  The  lives 
of  the  inmates  seemed  wholly  given  to  getting  a  living, 
and  if  aught  beyond  that  was  gained,  it  was  hoarded. 
I  suppose  in  large  part  the  lacks  of  the  average  Scotch 
farmhouse  are  explained  by  the  fact  that  it  is  not  owned 
by  its  farmer  occupant.  What  he  himself  does  to  better 
it  he  counts  as  thrown  away.  Improvements  are 
begged  from  the  factor,  not  undertaken  independently, 
and  the  factor  apparently  is  not  anxious  to  do  much 
beyond  making  the  place  habitable.  Between  the 
thrifty  desire  of  both  tenant  and  landlord  to  save,  not 
spend,  little  is  done  to  make  the  home  surroundings 
more  convenient  or  to  improve  the  house  and  add  to 
the  indoor  comforts  and  amenities.  Cottage  kitchens 
often  had  some  brightness,  but  in  the  farmhouses  they 
were  apt  to  be  dull  working-rooms  that  to  New-World 
eyes  were  grim  and  repellent.  Indeed,  all  the  rooms 
were  devoid  of  homelikeness,  and  our  cosey  American 
sitting-room  seemed  a  thing  unknown. 

The  farm  fields,  in  pleasant  contrast  with  the  houses, 
were  free  from  weeds  and  under  the  most  perfect  cul- 
tivation. The  furrows  turned  by  the  ploughman  were 
absolutely  straight,  and  the  rows  of  tatties  and  neeps 
could  hardly  have  been  more  regular.  These  clean 
fields  and  the  care  bestowed  on  them  would  have  been 
an  object-lesson  to  the  average  Yankee  farmer. 


62  The  Land  of  Heather 

Hillocks  was  very  proud  of  his  housekeeper,  and 
frequently,  when  I  called,  he  had  her  wrap  up  several 
of  her  scones  in  a  newspaper  for  me  to  take  along  to 
my  boarding-place.  He  was  convinced  that  she  had 
no  equal  in  all  the  region.  "  I  was  yon  at  the  inn  ane 
day  to  pay  ma  rent,"  said  he,  "  and  there  was  twenty 
and  fower  men  there  besides,  and  I  thraws  a  five  pun 
note  onto  the  tawble,  and  I  says,  '  I'll  aye  wager  ony 
mon  here  that  I  hae  the  best  hoosekeeper  i'  the  coon- 
try  roond' —  I  did  that!  and  they  daurna  ony  mon 
tak'   me   oop." 

He  had  another  lass  on  the  farm  who  was  a  good 
housekeeper  too ;  but  she  was  cross-eyed,  "  ane  e'e 
glowerin'  up  the  lum  (chimney),  the  ither  i'  the  kail- 
pot  "  ;  and  he  was  particular  about  his  victuals,  and 
did  not  feel  sure  that  a  person  who  saw  so  crooked 
would  not  get  them  mixed.  So  he  kept  her  at 
field  tasks  usually.  Still,  she  took  the  place  of  the 
housekeeper  now  and  then,  because  the  latter  objected 
to  being  indoors  all  the  time,  and  wanted  to  work  in 
the  open  air  for  a  change.  There  were  women  laborers 
on  every  farm  in  the  district,  some  old,  some  young, 
and  they  did  all  sorts  of  work,  except  the  very  heaviest. 
The  wage  of  a  woman  working  by  the  day  was  ordi- 
narily fifteen  pence.  A  young  girl,  however,  who  hired 
out  on  a  farm  by  the  year  would  live  at  the  farm- 
house and  receive  six  pounds  for  her  first  year's  work. 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  6^ 

about  ten  for  the  second,  and  possibly  fifteen  the  third 
year. 

Besides  the  girls  living  on  the  farm,  Hillocks  for  a 
part  of  the  time  had  several  feminine  day-workers.  I 
went  with  him  on  one  occasion  to  visit  a  many-acred 
potato  field  where  four  such  helpers  were  hoeing. 
Two  of  them  were  married  women  from  the  clachan ; 
yet  the  fact  they  had  homes  and  husbands  to  care  for 
did  not  prevent  their  hiring  out  to  the  farmers  when 
opportunity  offered.  With  their  wide  straw  hats,  light 
aprons,  and  long-handled  hoes  the  squad  in  the  potato 
field  looked  very  picturesque,  and  even  attractive ;  for 
their  attire  had  a  neatness  and  freshness  scarcely  to  be 
expected  under  the  circumstances,  and  three  of  them 
had  nosegays  pinned  to  their  gowns.  Their  tongues 
were  running  on  with  great  animation,  but  they  kept 
steadily  at  work  just  the  same. 

In  my  calls  on  Hillocks  the  old  farmer  never  failed 
to  emphasize  his  hospitality  by  offering  to  treat  me, 
and  the  first  time  he  was  very  insistent  it  should  be 
whiskey.  But  I  had  been  forewarned.  "  Aye,  he'll  be 
gaein'  you  a  dram,"  the  shoemaker's  wife  had  said. 
"He  pretends  to  hae  vera  guid  whuskey.  '  Tak  it 
oop,'  he  says,  'it'll  no  hurt  ye.  It'll  gae  doon  tae 
your  vera  taes.'  Oh,  aye,  ye'll  be  haein'  a  nip  o'  '  the 
auld  kirk*  if  ye  gae  tae  Hillocks.  Ye  canna  reseest 
him ! " 


64  The  Land  of  Heather 

When  Hillocks  found  there  was  no  stirring  me  out 
of  my  prejudices,  he  ordered  the  housekeeper  to  bring 
in  milk,  of  which  he  was  hardly  less  proud  than  of  his 
whiskey.  Like  all  the  milk  produced  in  the  region,  it 
was  uncommonly  rich  and  sweet.  He  accounted  for 
its  virtues  by  saying  they  were  due  to  the  "  yarbs  "  the 
"  coos  "  browsed  on  in  the  dens.  He  thought  those 
luxuriant  ravines  were  peculiar  to  the  district,  and,  in  cow 
pasturage,  he  doubted  if  any  other  portion  of  the  earth 
was  favored  to  a  like  degree.  Hillocks  himself  chose 
to  drink  my  health  in  the  liquor  to  which  he  was  used, 
and  from  a  cupboard  he  brought  forth  a  decanter  and 
a  wine-glass.  He  filled  the  glass,  then  raised  it  aloft 
and  prefaced  the  draught  with  a  stiff  little  speech  full 
of  good  wishes. 

His  decanter  contained  "Irish  whuskey,"  he  told 
me.  "  Ah,  but  there's  a  difference  in  drinks,"  he  con- 
tinued. "I  was  ance  in  Glesca,  and  the  whuskey  there 
was  juist  poison.  Twa-thirds  o'  it  was  water,  and  the 
lave  was  some  stuff* — you  couldna  tell  what  —  that  they 
had  put  in't.  I  bought  a  glass  o'  it,  and  aifter  ane  taste 
threw  it  unner  the  tawble.  'Twasna  fit  to  drink. 
But  the  Irish  whuskey  —  it  is  graund,  mon  !  There 
was  ane  evening  the  doctor  doon  below  invited  me  in 
to  hae  a  taste,  and  he  set  oot  some  Irish  whuskey,  and 
we  drank  five  or  sax  roonds.  It  was  graund  !  The 
doctor  couldna  walk  steady  to  the  door  aifter  it,  but 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm   Folk  65 

I  gaed  awa'  hame  wi'  nae  mair  tribble  than  if  I  had 
ta'en  water.'* 

This  affection  for  the  social  glass  was  nothing  ex- 
ceptional. The  Scotch  as  a  people  are  hard  drinkers, 
and  their  favorite  liquor,  whiskey,  is  kept  in  nearly  all 
the  homes  for  occasional  family  drams  and  for  treat- 
ing friends  who  chance  to  call.  The  conviction  is 
growing,  however,  that  it  is  the  curse  of  the  country  ; 
and  drinking  and  drunkenness,  which  were  once  ac- 
cepted as  a  matter  of  course,  if  not  as  an  actual  glory, 
are  falling  more  and  more  into  disrepute. 

My  host,  at  the  close  of  his  reminiscence  showing  his 
prowess  as  a  consumer  of  Irish  whiskey,  got  out  his 
snuff-box,  and  with  the  little  ivory  spoon  that  was  in- 
side administered  a  good  sniff  to  each  nostril.  The 
snuff-taking  habit  was  not  at  all  general  among  the 
women  or  the  younger  men ;  but  the  pungent  dust 
was  held  to  be  one  of  the  necessities  by  men  who  were 
middle-aged  or  elderly.  When  two  such  met,  their 
cordiality  was  pretty  sure  to  be  accentuated  by  one  or 
the  other  getting  out  his  snuff-box,  and  each  taking  a 
companionable  pinch.  In  case  the  box  was  offered 
to  a  non-snuff-taker,  he  was  considered  satisfactorily 
poHte  if  he  simply  passed  it  under  his  nose. 

Many  visitors  came  to  Drumtochty,  drawn  by  the 
fame  that  had  been  given  it  by  Ian  Maclaren,  and 
among  them  were  a  number  from  across  the  ocean. 

F 


66  The  Land  of  Heather 

"It's  unearthly  —  a'  thae  Americans  comin'  here," 
was  the  comment  of  one  of  the  older  village  folk ;  for 
this  interest  shown  by  the  outside  world  was  to  the 
average  inhabitant  something  past  understanding.  The 
most  notable  of  the  visitors,  while  I  was  there,  was  a 
public  reader,  a  woman,  who  made  a  specialty  of  Scotch 
stories.  She  gave  a  reading  from  Maclaren  in  the 
schoolhouse  before  she  left,  and  the  audience,  which 
was  entirely  unused  to  exhibitions  of  the  sort,  was  very 
much  impressed.  Hillocks,  who  had  a  front  seat,  was 
entirely  overcome  by  the  dramatic  impersonations,  and 
declared  afterwards  that  he  did  not  suppose  there  was 
such  a  thing  in  the  world. 

The  next  day,  at  the  request  of  the  reader,  I  took 
her  and  her  father,  who  was  travelling  with  her,  to  call 
on  Hillocks.  The  old  farmer  considered  this  a  great 
honor,  and  hastened  to  ask  us  what  we  would  "  take." 

"Ye  wull  surely  taste  wi'  me,"  he  said.  "  Ye're  no 
a'  teetot'lars!  Ah-ha  !  Weel,  noo,  I  neever  jined  the 
teetot'lars  masel',  but  I  dinna  drink,  nevertheless.  I 
juist  tak'  a  bit  noo  and  then  wi'  a  neebor,  to  be  social 
and  friendly  lak.  Wull  ye  hae  a  glass  wi'  me  ?  A 
bit  whuskey  'ill  no  hurt  a  mon." 

Later  in  our  call  he  took  hold  of  the  reader's  sleeve 
and  remarked  :  "  That's  a  fine  goon,  wuman.  It  maun 
hae  cost  a  gude  bit  o'  siller.  But  it's  warum,  too,  aye, 
gey  warum,  and  it's  saft  lak  unner  the  feengers." 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  67 

He  mourned  some  over  the  contrast  between  him- 
self and  his  visitors.  "  You  can  traivel  a'  aroon*  the 
warld  juist  as  you  please,"  said  he,  "  while  I  maun 
work  on  because  I  canna  afford  to  stop."  Yet  he  was 
worth  forty  or  fifty  thousand  dollars. 

I  have  said  that  in  the  matter  of  cleanliness  the 
farmhouses  of  the  region  impressed  me  unfavorably, 
but  there  were  exceptions.  For  instance,  at  Drum- 
achar  the  dwelling  was  quite  irreproachable.  The 
scullery  and  the  milkhouse  had  floors  of  asphalt  and 
walls  of  whitewashed  plaster,  and  there  was  no  sign 
of  dirt  anywhere  indoors.  Outside,  however,  was  the 
coal-heap  close  under  the  kitchen  windows,  and  a  great 
flock  of  hens,  ducks,  and  turkeys  made  themselves  at 
home  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  back  door.  On  the 
day  I  was  at  Drumachar  noon  came  just  as  I  was  leav- 
ing the  house,  and  I  met  at  the  door  two  young 
women,  the  farmer's  daughters,  in  wide,  scoop- 
brimmed  hats,  coming  in  from  hoeing.  The  lassies 
looked  neat  and  attractive,  their  cheeks  were  rosy,  and 
they  seemed  perfectly  healthy  and  contented.  Every 
year  in  haying  time  the  older  girl  made  all  the  stacks 
—  no  small  task,  for  the  farm  was  the  largest  in  the 
district.  Fifty  cows  were  kept  on  it  and  the  milk  was 
sent  off  daily  to  Dundee. 

Haying  begins  at  Drumtochty  the  last  of  June. 
Mowing-machines  are  in  common  use,  though  scythes 


68  The  Land  of  Heather 

are  by  no  means  things  of  the  past.  Turning  is 
done  by  hand,  but  every  farmer  has  a  horse-rake. 
The  weather  is  so  inclined  to  be  dull  and  showery 
that  it  is  difficult  to  cure  the  grass  in  a  reasonable 
length  of  time,  and  it  is  therefore  raked  up  while  still 
rather  green,  and  piled  in  cone-shaped  stacks,  each  con- 
taining about  a  fair-sized  load.  The  hay  is  left  stacked 
in  the  field  where  it  grew  for  several  weeks  until 
thoroughly  dry,  when  it  is  loaded  on  carts  and  conveyed 
to  the  stackyard  near  the  farmhouse.  One  mowing 
suffices,  and  in  the  fall  the  land  is  let  for  the  winter 
grazing  of  the  sheep  from  the  moors. 

The  horse-rake  employed  in  gathering  the  hay  into 
windrows  is  a  heavy  iron  affair,  that  looks  as  if  it  was 
meant  for  a  harrow.  A  man  walks  along  behind  to 
manage  it  and  drive  the  horse.  A  very  different  type 
of  rake  is  used  to  bring  the  hay  from  the  windrows  to 
the  stacks.  It  is  a  many-toothed  wooden  contrivance, 
like  a  double-edged  comb.  It  slides  along  flat  on  the 
ground,  and  the  horse  is  hitched  a  considerable  distance 
in  front,  to  allow  as  large  a  mass  of  hay  as  possible  to 
gather  on  the  teeth.  When  it  is  to  be  dumped,  the 
man  stepping  along  in  its  wake  lifts  the  handles  enough 
to  make  the  teeth  catch  in  the  ground  and  force  it  to 
flop  over.  At  Drumachar  the  younger  sister  rode  the 
horse,  sitting  astride  on  a  blanket. 

In  the  centre  of  each  haystack  is  a  rough,  wooden 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  69 

tripod  eight  or  ten  feet  high,  to  serve  as  a  support, 
and  to  help  in  ventilation.  The  person  on  the  stack 
tramps  the  hay  and  places  it  as  it  is  thrown  up  from 
below  till  it  is  piled  well  above  the  top  of  the  wooden 
tripod.  Special  care  is  taken  to  arrange  the  final  fork- 
fuls so  that  they  shall  form  a  cap  and  shed  the  rain. 
That  the  top  may  not  blow  off,  two  ropes  are  adjusted 
over  the  stack.  The  ends  dangle  down  the  sides,  and  a 
man  below  weights  them  with  stones.  Then  a  ladder  is 
set  against  the  stack,  and  the  worker  up  aloft  descends. 

The  women  do  their  full  share  of  the  haymaking, 
and  their  presence  gives  the  mowing  lots  an  air 
peculiarly  domestic  and  social.  I  noticed  at  Drum- 
achar  that  not  only  the  farmer's  daughters  and  several 
hired  female  helpers  engaged  in  the  work,  but  if  callers 
came,  whether  men  or  women,  they  too  went  to  the 
hayfield,  and  while  they  visited,  partook  in  the  labor, 
in  spite  of  their  best  clothes.  The  children  were 
there  also,  and  the  scene  was  a  very  pleasant  and  busy 
one. 

What  the  everyday  work  of  a  Scotch  farm  is  I  can 
perhaps  best  make  clear  by  describing  it  as  it  was  at 
Hillocks,  for  it  was  there  I  became  most  familiar  with 
its  routine.  Of  course,  allowance  must  be  made  for 
variations  in  details.  Hillocks  himself  is  out  in  the 
fields  in  summer  at  half-past  four.  But  previous  to 
leaving  the  house  he  rouses  the  rest  of  the  farm  family 


yo  The  Land  of  Heather 

and  does  some  of  the  preliminary  kitchen  work.  First 
he  attends  to  the  fire,  which,  thanks  to  his  mania  for 
economy,  still  has  a  dim  bit  of  life  in  it  lingering  from 
the  day  before.  Each  night,  to  save  the  expense  of 
the  match  it  would  be  necessary  to  use  in  relighting 
his  fire  if  it  went  out,  he  covers  the  coals  with  clods 
—  peeHngs  of  mossy  turf  from  the  moor.  These 
peelings  are  chiefly  used  to  cover  the  potatoes  when 
they  are  piled  up  in  the  fields  for  winter  storage,  but 
Hillocks  makes  them  do  double  service. 

After  he  has  replenished  the  fire.  Hillocks  hangs 
the  porridge  pot  on  the  sway,  with  enough  oatmeal  in 
it  for  the  household  breakfast,  and  he  sets  a  mess  of 
milk  heating  for  the  calves.  The  farm  help  are  sup- 
posed to  be  up  and  starting  work  at  fLve,  but,  Hke  a 
great  many  folk  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  they  feel 
their  sleepiest  at  getting-up  time,  and  their  response 
to  the  master's  summons  is  not  as  ready  as  it  might 
be.  Most  Hkely  they  nap  until  he  comes  in  from  his 
field  work  and  calls  again.  The  farmer  begins  to  be 
disturbed  now,  and  he  cries  up  the  stairway  that  the 
clock  has  struck  five,  "  and  the  naxt  one  it'll  chop'll 
be  sax  !  "  or  he  informs  them,  "  the  sun's  gaein'  wast, 
and  the  pay's  rinnin'  on." 

The  girls  exasperate  him  by  their  dilatoriness  in 
dressing,  and  to  them  he  calls  out,  "  It'll  tak'  ye  five 
minutes  to  pit  in  every  pin  ! " 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  71 

Judging  from  the  usual  looks  of  their  clothing,  pins 
were  the  chief  fastenings,  and  I  suppose  a  secure  adjust- 
ment consumed  of  necessity  a  good  deal  of  time.  The 
men,  when  they  rise,  go  to  the  barn  and  take  care 
of  the  horses,  and  the  three  lassies  milk  the  cows  and 
feed  the  calves  and  pigs.  Toward  seven,  the  breakfast 
hour,  the  men  come  in  and  wash.  None  of  them  use 
soap  ;  neither  do  the  lassies.  It  is  a  luxury  of  which 
Hillocks  does  not  approve ;  and  when  one  of  his  hired 
girls  exchanged  some  farm  produce  with  a  pedler,  for 
a  cake  of  the  toilet  variety,  he  was  very  much  shocked. 
She  put  it  in  a  convenient  place  for  family  use ; 
but  Hillocks  would  not  allow  such  extravagance. 
"  Washin'  hands  with  soap!"  he  exclaimed;  "  ye're 
enough  to  ruin  ten  men  !  " 

The  girl  with  longings  for  soap  had  a  weakness  for 
the  esthetic  in  other  directions  also,  and  one  day 
created  a  similar  storm  by  whitening  the  ash-hole,  and 
going  over  the  hearthstone  with  blue  chalk.  These 
things  are  quite  customary  among  such  Scotch  house- 
wives as  take  pains  to  beautify  their  kitchens,  but  to 
Hillocks  it  seemed  a  waste  of  valuable  time  and 
energy.  "  I've  lived  seventy  and  twa  years  i'  the 
world,  and  never  seen  the  ash-hole  whitened  afore,"  was 
his  disapproving  comment. 

The  farm  breakfast  consists  of  porridge,  milk,  and  a 
cup  of  tea.     The  girls  gather  at  a  table  on  one  side  of 


72  The  Land  of  Heather 

the  room,  and  the  men  at  a  table  opposite.  As  they 
sit  down,  Hillocks  is  wont  to  say,  boastfully,  "  I  had 
a  drill  (row)  hoed  afore  ony  o'  ye  came  oot ;  "  or  if  it  is 
not  the  hoeing  season,  he  mentions  some  other  task 
he  has  accomplished  while  they  were  drowsing. 

From  breakfast  till  noon  all  the  farm  hands,  with 
the  exception  of  the  housekeeper,  are  working  in  the 
fields.  At  "  twal  "  they  come  in  to  eat  dinner.  The 
bill  of  fare  is  broth  made  of  kail,  carrots,  pease,  and 
cabbage,  followed  by  meat  and  potatoes  ;  and  occasion- 
ally there  is  a  dessert  of  rhubarb,  stewed  with  milk. 
After  the  men  go  out,  the  women  may  make  a  cup  of 
tea  on  the  sly ;  but  they  all  scurry  out  of  sight  if  Hil- 
locks appears  in  the  midst  of  this  clandestine  indul- 
gence, for  he  "  doesna  alloo  much  tea." 

Just  before  dinner  the  lassies  had  driven  in  the 
cows,  and  now  they  resort  to  the  byres  and  milk  them, 
and  then  turn  them  out  to  pasture  again.  The  men 
care  for  the  horses,  and  sit  about  smoking  and  talk- 
ing till  two,  when  they  are  due  in  the  fields.  At  half- 
past  six  they  break  off  work,  put  up  their  horses,  and 
are  free  to  do  what  they  please.  The  supper  at  seven 
is  of  tea  and  jam,  with  meat  food  in  the  form  of  ham, 
stewed  rabbit,  or  eggs.  Bread,  scones,  and  oat  cakes 
are  on  the  table  at  every  meal.  Between  eight  and 
nine  the  women  milk  for  the  third  time,  and  their 
work  is  not  often  done  till  toward  ten. 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  73 

Hens  and  ducks  were  plenty  at  Hillocks,  but  they 
were  never  served  on  the  family  table.  They  went  to 
market  instead,  and  were  turned  into  "  siller."  The 
hens  were  the  care  of  the  housekeeper.  They  roosted 
on  some  poles  under  the  eaves,  in  an  old  cow  byre. 
They  laid  all  around  the  buildings,  sometimes  in  the 
corn,  or  under  a  hedge,  and  there  was  one  biddy  that 
walked  up  the  back  stairs  every  day,  and  laid  an  egg  in 
the  ploughman's  bed. 

The  farmers  hire  their  help  by  the  year,  and  the 
year  ends  at  Martinmas,  the  28th  of  November. 
There  are  two  hiring  days,  the  first  known  as  "  Little 
Dunning  Market,"  and  the  second  as  "  Flit  Friday." 
The  former,  which  is  by  far  the  more  important,  is 
the  great  holiday  of  the  year  to  the  farm  help.  It 
comes  on  the  third  Friday  of  October,  and  they  all  go 
to  Perth  and  stand  along  the  chief  street,  and  bargain 
with  the  farmers  who  come  among  them  to  hire. 

"  Are  ye  gaein'  tae  fee  thae  day  ?  "  asks  the  farmer. 

If  the  reply  is  affirmative,  and  they  can  settle  on  a 
satisfactory  wage,  the  farmer  gives  the  man  a  shilling 
to  bind  the  bargain,  and  each  takes  the  other's  address. 
So  great  is  the  crowd  on  the  street  that  "  it  seems  a 
won'er  the  women  and  bairns  do  not  get  crushed.'* 

It  is  not  a  quiet  crowd.  The  ploughmen  are  there 
for  a  holiday,  and  they  are  bound  to  celebrate,  and 
"An  awfu'  lot  o'  them  gets  drunk  —  women  tae." 


74  The  Land  of  Heather 

"  Every  Jockie  has  his  Jeannie,"  and  the  men  are 
giving  all  the  girls  they  know  fairings  —  that  is,  they 
treat  them  to  sweeties  (candy),  fruits,  and  drink,  and 
buy  them  ribbons,  gloves,  and  other  little  things.  For 
themselves  the  ploughmen  invest  in  "  great  muckle 
paper  roses,"  half  a  dozen  on  a  branch,  and  this 
branch  they  stick  in  their  hats.  The  hilarity  waxes 
higher  as  the  day  advances,  and  men  are  seen  parad- 
ing around  with  their  arms  about  their  sweethearts* 
necks,  and  in  the  demonstrative  sociability  the  women's 
bonnets  are  half  torn  off  their  heads,  though  the  wearers 
are  quite  oblivious  of  the  fact.  But  the  day  at  length 
comes  to  an  end,  and  the  farm  help  scatters  out  into 
the  country,  and  the  next  morning  those  who  have 
recovered  from  the  effects  of  their  holiday  are  at  work 
in  their  old  places. 

There  they  continue  until  Martinmas  Day,  the  time 
appointed  for  "  flitting  "  to  their  new  masters.  Flit 
Friday  is  the  Friday  after  Martinmas.  It  is  a  mild 
repetition  of  Little  Dunning  Market,  and  exists  for 
those  who  failed  to  fee  on  the  earlier  occasion.  Such 
go  then  to  Perth,  and  stand  for  hire  on  the  chief  street, 
and  bargain  for  places  just  as  the  others  did  a  few  weeks 
before. 

Aside  from  these  days  that  were  peculiarly  the  plough- 
man's, there  were  various  others  sprinkled  through  the 
year  that  had  more  or  less  of  a  holiday  flavor  to  the 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  75 

people  of  Drumtochty.  To  begin  with,  there  was 
the  "  First  Footin  "  that  ushered  in  the  new  year. 
The  young  men  did  not  go  to  bed  on  New  Year's 
Eve,  and  at  twelve  o'clock  they  rang  the  Free  Kirk 
bell,  and  started  out  for  a  tour  of  the  village.  As 
they  went  they  made  all  the  noise  they  could,  shout- 
ing and  singing,  beating  drums  and  playing  on  "  melo- 
jeons  "  (accordions).  They  knocked  on  the  doors  and 
bade  the  house  dwellers  get  up  and  let  them  in.  Not 
so  many  respond  to  these  summons  as  in  former  days  ; 
but  where  entrance  is  gained,  the  first  man  who  crosses 
the  threshold  treats  the  family  to  whiskey,  and  the 
midnight  callers  all  expect  to  be  treated  in  return. 
The  idea  is  that  the  "  first  foot "  in  a  house  on  the 
New  Year  brings  it  good  luck,  provided  there  is  an 
accompaniment  of  mutual  treating. 

But  "  First  Footin  "  is  only  an  incident  at  most, 
and  the  New  Year's  observance  of  Hansel  Monday 
is  of  much  more  consequence.  This  is  the  first 
Monday  of  January,  and  translated  into  plain  English 
it  means  "  Present  "  or  "  Token  "  Monday.  Bits  of 
money,  or  small  articles  bought  for  the  purpose,  are 
given  to  the  children,  while  good  feeling  among  their 
elders  is  promoted  by  neighborly  visits,  in  which  they 
lunch  and  drink  a  friendly  glass  together.  In  old 
times  it  was  the  fashion  with  the  arrival  of  each  caller 
to   get  out  a  great  kebbock  (cheese)  and  hand  it  to 


76  The  Land  of  Heather 

the  visitor,  who  put  it  on  his  knee  and  cut  off  what 
he  wanted  to  eat.  Now,  all  callers  are  treated  to 
short-bread,  and  every  housekeeper  lays  in  a  goodly 
supply  of  it  the  week  preceding.  Probably  no  one 
anticipates  Hansel  Monday  with  more  pleasure  than 
the  lass  who  delivers  the  mail ;  for  her  faithful  services 
during  the  year  are  then  remembered  by  the  bestowal 
of  many  little  presents  of  money,  when  she  makes  her 
rounds.  In  the  evening  there  is  generally  a  dancing 
party  in  the  schoolhouse,  with  a  fiddler  to  furnish 
music,  and  the  merriment  continues  till  daylight. 

The  next  notable  day  is  one  appointed  in  February 
for  a  ploughing  match.  At  eight  o'clock  on  the  day 
selected,  sixteen  ploughs  are  ready  for  the  contest  in 
a  big  field  on  one  of  the  large  farms.  No  end  of  men 
are  present  from  all  the  country  around  to  look  on 
and  to  partake  of  the  refreshments,  both  solid  and 
fluid,  furnished  the  crowd  by  the  farmer  on  whose 
land  the  match  takes  place.  Each  team  is  to  plough 
a  half  acre,  and  the  work  continues  well  into  the  after- 
noon. At  the  close  of  the  contest  the  judges  make 
the  awards  and  distribute  the  prizes.  One  prize  is 
for  the  man  who  finishes  first,  another  for  the  one  with 
the  best  horses,  another  for  the  oldest,  and  one  for 
the  youngest  ploughman,  one  for  the  tidiest  dressed 
ploughman,  one  for  the  ploughman  with  the  largest 
family,  etc.     If  a  man  did  not  excel  in  one  way  he  was 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm   Folk  77 

likely  to  in  another,  and  the  list  of  prizes  was  long 
enough,  so  that  every  man  had  a  fair  chance  to  get 
something. 

On  April  first  the  children  celebrate  in  much  the 
same  way  they  do  in  our  country.  They  fool  each 
other  and  their  elders,  pin  bits  of  paper  on  coats,  and 
send  the  unwary  on  errands  that  are  invented  for  the 
day.  The  errand  trick  is  the  one  on  which  they  most 
pride  themselves,  and  it  is  that  gives  the  day  its  Scotch 
title  of  "  Gowk's  Errant  Day." 

"  Eastern's  E'en,"  too,  is  the  occasion  of  considerable 
curious  celebrating  in  Drumtochty.  I  was  a  good  deal 
puzzled  to  know  what  the  term  meant,  for  all  that  the 
villagers  could  tell  me  was  simply  that  it  was  usually  in 
February.  First  came  Candlemas,  and  then  you  waited 
till  you  had  a  new  moon,  and  the  night  of  the  next 
"  Chuesday  "  after  that  was  "  Eastern's  E'en."  Finally 
I  asked  the  Free  Kirk  minister,  and  he  said  it  was  the 
evening  before  Lent,  an  evening  which  in  some  coun- 
tries would  be  celebrated  as  the  climax  of  the  carnival 
time  preceding  the  Lenten  quiet.  It  was  a  strange 
echo  of  these  revels  that  had  found  its  way  to  the 
Scotch  upland.  Some  one  in  the  village  would  make 
up  a  lot  of  small  "treacle  scones,"  and  invite  all  the 
"young  folks  "  to  come  in  for  the  evening.  By  young 
folks  was  not  meant  just  the  unmarried  lads  and  lassies. 
"  Oh,  we  wouldna  like  it,"  said  the  shoemaker's  wife, 


78  The  Land  of  Heather 

"  no  to  gae  after  we  marry.  The  young  fowk  are  ony 
frae  twal  to  fifty,  married  or  unmarried.  I  hae  seen  a 
gude  hooseful  whiles  i'  this  kitchen  on  Fastern's  E*en. 
Soom  sit  on  the  chairs,  soom  on  the  bed  and  the 
table  —  oh,  onywhere  !  The  scones  wad  hae  things 
stirred  in  wi'  the  batter,  but  ye  couldna  tell  what  you 
might  get.  We  wad  aye  feel  the  scone  wi'  our  feengers 
afore  we  ate  it.  Soomtimes  there  wad  be  ane  thing  in 
it,  soomtimes  twa,  or  it  might  be  none  at  a'.  If  you 
found  a  reeng,  you  wad  be  the  first  to  marry  ;  or  a  but- 
ton, you  wad  marry  a  tailor  ;  or  a  thimmel,  wad  sew  for 
a  leevin';  or  a  threpenny  bit,  wad  marry  a  reech  mon. 
Then  by  and  by,  aifter  the  fun  is  ower,  each  lad  wad 
be  huntin'  a  lass  an'  speirin'  wad  she  gae  hame  wi' 
him.  '  Are  ye  ready  to  gae  hame  noo  ? '  he  wad  say  ; 
and  if  she  said,  'No,  I  am  no  ready,'  he  wad  ken  he 
couldna  hae  her,  and  then  he  wad  speir  soom  ither  lass, 
and  aifter  the  lassies  were  a'  seen  hame  the  lads  might 
pu'  the  kail  stalks  up  in  our  gardens,  or  tie  sticks 
across  our  doors  so  we  couldna  get  oot  naxt  mornin'. 
Aye,  it  wad  fair  scunner  ye,  soom  o'  the  things  the 
laddies  dae  on  Fastern's  E'en." 

In  September  a  "flower  show"  is  held  in  the  school- 
house,  to  which  resort  the  people  from  all  the  region. 
They  bring  for  exhibition  flowers,  both  cut  and  in 
pots  ;  garden  vegetables,  fruits,  honey,  butter,  cheese  ; 
and  the  cooks  each  contribute  samples  of  their  culi- 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  79 

nary  art  in  the  shape  of  a  certain  number  of  scones  and 
oat  cakes  and  six  boiled  potatoes.  A  small  charge  is 
made  for  admission,  a  "  sheddle"  (schedule  or  catalogue) 
is  printed,  and  various  prizes  are  given. 

Later  in  the  fall  the  young  folks  find  pleasure  in  the 
dusk  of  the  chilly  evenings  gathering  the  hedge  cut- 
tings and  rubbish  into  piles  and  making  great  shanacles 
(bonfires).  Still  later  comes  Hallowe'en  with  its  "apple 
dookinV'  burning  of  nuts,  and  other  sports,  and  then 
there  is  a  blank  until  Christmas.  On  that  day,  in  the 
homes  where  there  are  young  children,  they  "  do  up 
the  hoose  wi'  greens,"  which  means  that  the  kitchen  is 
trimmed  with  box,  fir,  ivy,  and  holly;  and  a  final  touch 
is  furnished  by  a  sprig  of  mistletoe,  which  is  hung  over 
the  kitchen  door  to  give  the  inmates  the  liberty  to 
kiss  whoever  comes  in.  It  is  mainly  the  young  people 
who  do  the  kissing.  If  a  man  whose  youth  is  past 
takes  advantage  of  the  mistletoe,  the  others  deride  him 
and  say:  "You've  no  need  to  be  rinnin*  aifter  the 
lassies.  You're  up  on  the  shelf  a'ready."  Inexpensive 
presents  are  given  to  the  bairns  at  home  and  to  some 
of  their  small  relatives  who  live  near  by.  The  grown- 
up folk  take  no  notice  of  the  day  for  themselves, 
except  that  the  wife  invites  in  several  friends  to  an 
extra  good  dinner  at  seven  after  "  he,"  as  the  wife  calls 
the  husband,  has  finished  work.  Plum  pudding  and 
tea  cakes  are  the  special  features  of  this  repast. 


8o  The  Land  of  Heather 

The  year  ends  with  "  Hogmanay  Night."  "  Hog- 
manay "  is  an  ancient  term  of  uncertain  meaning, 
though  some  suppose  its  equivalent  to  be  the  hearty 
old-time  greeting,  "  God  be  with  you."  On  this  last 
night  of  the  year  it  is  the  custom  of  the  children  to  go 
"  guysin'."  They  start  out,  half  a  dozen  or  so  in  a 
company,  just  after  they  have  eaten  their  supper,  at 
about  six  o'clock.  "  Soom  blacks  their  faces  wi'  soot," 
explained  my  landlady,  "  wi'  perhaps  a  spot  here  and 
there  o'  whitening.  Ithers  hae  false  faces  on.  They 
wear  auld  coats,  and  tie  their  trousers  up  wi'  strae.  I 
gey  often  dress  Jimmie  as  a  wuman.  I  hae  seen  them 
no  kennin'  him  at  a'.  Soom  wull  hae  penny  whustles, 
and  they  carry  long  sticks  to  pound  wi'  when  they 
dance.  They  gae  a'  through  the  clachan  to  every 
hoose,  and  then  to  the  farmhooses  not  too  far  awa\ 
They  gae  in  wi'  no  muckle  knockin',  an'  the  fowk  say, 
'  Why  div  ye  no  begin  to  sing  and  dance  ?  '  One  o' 
their  songs  is  this  — 

**  *  Get  up,  auld  wife,  and  shake  your  feathers. 
And  dinna  think  that  we  are  beggars. 
We're  juist  a  wheen  bairns  come  oot  tae  play  ; 
Rise  up  and  gie  us  oor  Hogmanay.' 

Before  they  go,  the  fowk  treats  them  to  oranges,  short- 
bread, or  cake,  and  gies  them  usually  a  penny  apiece. 
They  wullna  get  hame  till  ten  or  eleven  o'clock,  and 
soomtimes  Jimmie  hae  near  twa  shillings." 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  8i 

The  grown  people,  too,  go  guysing  occasionally. 
In  that  case  two  men  dress  up  in  women's  clothes, 
and  two  women  put  on  men's  garments,  and  a  third 
man  goes  along  and  plays  an  accordion.  But  such 
parties  are  only  intent  on  having  a  lark,  and  do  not 
make  the  extended  tours  the  children  do.  They  go 
simply  to  a  few  houses  of  their  special  friends  and 
dance  and  perform,  and  with  their  masks  and  costumes 
try  to  mystify  those  on  whom  they  call,  as  to  who  they 
really  are. 

Perhaps  I  should  include  among  the  holidays  the 
two  fast  days  of  the  year,  but  there  is  nothing  recreative 
about  them.  One  comes  in  June  and  the  other  in 
December,  and  they  are  kept  much  like  the  Sabbath, 
with  cessation  of  work  and  long  services  in  the 
churches  that  are  very  generally  attended. 

Of  a  character  that  has  much  more  of  the  holiday 
air,  are  some  of  the  customs  connected  with  the  wed- 
dings. The  evening  of  the  day  preceding  that  set 
for  the  ceremony  is  one  looked  forward  to  with  dread 
by  the  prospective  bride,  for  that  is  the  "  footwashing  " 
evening.  A  crowd  of  young  people  call  at  the  bride's 
home,  but  she,  often  half  distracted,  has  gone  into  hid- 
ing. The  visitors  search  high  and  low,  and  never  give 
up  till  they  are  successful.  "  I  hae  seen  them,"  said 
the  shoemaker's  wife,  "  rinnin'  a'  through  the  toon 
aifter  her.     There  was  ane  lass  lived  naxt  door,  and 


82  The  Land  of  Heather 

she  came  into  oor  hoose  and  went  through  the  scullery 
and  oot  at  the  back  window  whiles  the  crowd  was  wait- 
ing at  the  door.  But  they  juist  saw  her  heels  gaein* 
wast  the  road,  and  were  aifter  her ;  and  she  went  doon 
the  lane  and  in  at  Jean  Robinson's,  and  hid  in  her  gar- 
ret ;  and  when  the  crowd  came,  Jean  tried  to  persuade 
them  she  wasna  there,  but  they  wouldna  be  per- 
suaded. There  were  a  guid  mony,  and  Jean  cried, 
'For  God's  sake,  dinna  gae  up  my  garret!  If  ye  a' 
gae  up,  ye'll  come  doon  through.' 

"  But  they  got  the  lass  and  took  her  hame.  Then 
she  was  set  in  a  chair,  and  her  shoes  and  stockings 
pulled  afF,  and  they  wad  rub  their  hands  up  the  lum 
in  the  soot  and  then  rub  them  on  her  feet,  and 
use  brushes,  too,  till  her  feet  wad  be  juist  shinin'. 
Whuskey  was  generally  gaein'  at  the  feetwashing,  and 
soom  o'  the  men  wad  be  very  rough.  Clothes  wad 
get  dirty,  and  soomtimes  torn,  and  if  you  wore  your 
best  claes,  so  much  the  waur  for  you.  I  ken  that  ance 
Sandy  Duncan  came  in  unawares,  late,  and  he  had  on 
his  white  cuffs,  and  they  got  a  baud  o'  him  wi'  their 
soot,  and  he  was  a  sight  to  behold. 

"  They  use  soap  and  cloths  and  brushes  a',  in  the 
washin',  and  the  flure  wad  be  juist  sailin'  wi'  water. 
Then  at  the  end  they'd  hae  a  dance.  We'd  hae  nae 
music,  but  we'd  sing  to  dance  by  —  nae  words,  only 
diddUn  (humming).     When  we'd  get  gaein',  we'd  a' 


^ 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk  83 

diddle  thegither,  soom  o'  us  on  ane  tune  and  soom  on 
anither ;  and  aifter  that  the  lads  wad  very  likely  carry 
the  bridegroom  aff  on  their  shoulders  to  the  public  and 
make  him  stand  treat  a'  aroond." 

On  the  evening  of  the  wedding  a  sharp  watch  is 
kept  that  the  bridegroom  may  be  seen  on  his  way  to 
the  home  of  the  bride,  and  if  the  night  is  rainy,  it  is 
thought  to  be  a  clever  pleasantry  to  pelt  him  with  flour. 
Wet  or  dry,  many  friendly  shoes  are  thrown  at  him, 
though  the  friendliness  is  not  so  apparent  if  the  aim 
proves  true.  One  woman  told  me  that  on  an  evening 
when  she  was  to  act  as  bridesmaid,  she  accompanied 
the  groom  from  the  clachan  to  his  intended's  home  on 
a  neighboring  farm,  "  and  I  walkit  juist  a  wee  buttie 
along,"  said  she,  "  gaein'  east  on  his  arm,  when  soom 
ane  threw  a  shoe,  and  it  hit  him  side  o'  the  heid  and  cut 
his  face,  and  the  blood  poored  doon,  and  I  thought  he 
was  killed." 

If  the  bride's  home  was  sufficiently  distant,  so  that 
the  bridal  attendants  rode  to  it  in  a  brake,  every  one 
threw  shoes  and  rice  at  the  occupants  of  the  vehicle 
as  they  were  leaving  the  village.  "  I  mind,"  said  the 
bridesmaid  before  quoted,  "  I  threw  my  mither's  sUp- 
pers  ance,  when  I  hadna  time  to  find  ony  auld  shoon, 
and  they  gaed  into  the  machine  (wagon)  and  I  never 
saw  them  again." 

The  guests  gather  at  the  bride's  in  the  best  room. 


84  The  Land  of  Heather 

Just  before  the  ceremony  the  bridegroom  goes  in,  and 
there  he  is  "  talkin'  awa'  "  when  the  bride  enters  a  Httle 
later  on  her  father's  arm,  preceded  by  her  bridesmaids. 
The  young  couple  now  take  their  places  before  a  win- 
dow, and  the  minister  reads  the  service.  The  minister's 
remuneration  consists  of  a  pair  of  gloves  and  a  silk 
handkerchief  supplied  by  the  groom,  who  also  is  ex- 
pected to  give  his  best  man,  shortly  before  the  wedding, 
a  white  shirt  and  collar  and  tie.  The  couple  themselves 
have  a  variety  of  presents,  including  lamps,  silverware, 
and  other  household  furnishings,  and  a  Bible,  which  is 
the  regulation  gift  from  the  minister.  These  things 
are  shown  to  calling  friends  on  the  two  or  three  days 
that  antedate  the  wedding,  but  are  not  exhibited  the 
evening  of  the  ceremony. 

On  a  table  in  the  room  where  the  wedding  takes 
place  is  the  bride's  loaf,  frosted  and  fancy  and,  not 
unfrequently,  three  stories  high.  Near  by  are  wine  and 
wine  glasses.  As  soon  as  the  ceremony  is  over  the 
bride  cuts  the  loaf  and  the  bridesmaids  pass  it  about 
among  the  guests.  At  the  same  time  the  wine  is 
poured  and  healths  are  drank.  Then  the  company 
adjourns  to  an  upstairs  room  and  sits  down  to  supper. 
This  room  has  been  cleared  of  its  ordinary  furniture, 
and  two  long  tables  improvised  with  boards  give  it 
the  air  of  a  dining  hall.  Dishes  have  been  borrowed 
from  the  neighbors,  and  the  girl  friends  of  the  bride 


The  Ways  of  the  Farm  Folk 


5 


have  helped  prepare  the  feast,  and  are  present  to  wait 
on  the  tables.  Roast  beef,  boiled  ham,  fowl,  pastry, 
beer,  and  bottled  lemonade  are  the  chief  items  in  the 
bill  of  fare. 

The  minister  leaves  at  the  conclusion  of  the  supper, 
much  to  the  relief  of  the  company,  whose  spirits  are 
not  a  little  repressed  in  his  presence.  They  now  go 
downstairs,  and  the  old  people  sit  and  talk  in  the  best 
room,  while  the  young  folks  dance  in  the  kitchen. 
The  scraping  of  the  fiddle  and  the  clatter  of  feet,  with 
pauses  now  and  then  for  some  one  to  sing  a  song,  go 
on  till  midnight.  Then  there  is  an  intermission,  and 
tea  and  cakes  are  passed  around,  and  such  as  choose 
take  a  drop  of  whiskey.  At  one  dancing  is  resumed, 
and  it  is  two  or  three  hours  later  when  the  wedding 
party  breaks  up. 


A  Hayrake 


IV 


AN  EXCURSION 


FOR  the  most  part 
my  stay  in  Drum- 
tochty  was  unin- 
terrupted by  any  trips 
that  took  me  farther  from 
the  village  than  I  could 
conveniently  walk.  The 
only  jaunts  of  a  more 
extended  character  were 
several  visits  to  Perth 
and  a  three  days'  drive 
up  into  the  Highlands. 
I  hired  a  gray  pony  and 
a  yellow  dogcart  from  a 
farmer  for  this  Highland 
journey,  and  started  at 
eight  o'clock  on  a  Monday  morning,  feeling  a  good 
deal  elated  that  the  conveyance  was  in  my  sole  posses- 
sion without  a  driver  to  consider  and  to  provide  for. 
The    cart,  like    nearly   all    British  vehicles,  was  very 

86 


^ 

^B 

^m 

^^m 

^m 

^;43Si.V^^^^P 

^^^» 

■'.-I.'  t^a'v'^S^k 

^^^p^ 

\.'-v    ' i  *.    '^^ 

^1^ 

fe» 

i^^^^fe 

Y 

I 

'*"•      Lmm 

\ 

^/^P 

:r-^%.4« 

1 

^B 

fc^ 

^^^^ 

^^^^^^^^ 

-   ■ 

Carrying  Peat  out  of  the  Bog 


An  Excursion  87 

high  and  heavy,  and  the  wheels  were  typically  British 
in  their  breadth  of  tires  and  general  solidity. 

I  was  only  troubled  by  two  things  —  firstly,  because 
I  had  failed  to  ask  before  starting  what  the  Scotch  said 
to  their  horses  when  they  wanted  them  to  stop  or  go 
on  ;  secondly,  because  I  was  fearful  that  when  I  met  a 
team  I  would  bring  on  a  collision  by  forgetting  it  was 
the  custom  in  Britain  to  turn  to  the  left,  instead  of 
to  the  right  as  with  us.  But  the  horse  seemed  to 
understand  the  intent  of  my  commands,  even  if  they 
were  in  words  foreign  to  it,  and  the  teams  I  met  were 
so  few  and  far  between  that  my  anxiety  on  their 
account  was  mainly  wasted.  I  carried  a  pock  (bag) 
full  of  grain  for  the  horse,  and  a  box  full  of  provisions 
for  myself.  Noons  I  stopped  for  lunch  by  some  road- 
side burn,  whenever  and  wherever  I  took  the  fancy, 
and,  after  I  had  set  the  horse  feeding,  would  get  out 
my  lunch  box  and  find  some  convenient  boulder  for  a 
seat,  and  dine  in  true  gypsy  fashion. 

The  earlier  part  of  my  journey  was  for  many  miles  up 
the  wide,  pleasant  valley  of  the  Tochty,  but  at  length 
I  entered  a  crooked  mountain  canon,  Glen  Urtach  by 
name,  overshadowed  by  great  craggy  ridges  on  whose 
gentler  declivities  the  brown  heather  clung.  These 
mountains  looked  as  if  thunderbolts  and  tornadoes 
had  made  them  their  playground ;  for  their  sides  were 
everywhere  furrowed  with    deep  jagged    ravines,  and 


88  The  Land  of  Heather 

their  lower  slopes  were  strewn  with  masses  of  loose 
rocks  hurled  down  from  above  by  the  sudden  storm 
floods.  The  natural  wildness  of  the  scene  was  further 
emphasized  by  the  fact  that  the  glen  in  all  its  extent 
of  three  or  four  miles  contained  but  two  houses,  and 
these  were  nothing  but  lonely  little  cottages  occupied 
by  shepherds  whose  business  it  was  to  care  for  the 
moorland  sheep. 

Near  the  entrance  to  the  glen  were  the  grassy  em- 
bankments of  a  Roman  camp,  but  a  feature  of  the 
valley  that  interested  me  more  than  this  relic  of  the 
dim  past  was  a  great  boulder  about  a  mile  beyond. 
It  stood  a  Httle  aside  from  the  highway,  and  a  much- 
used  path  leading  to  it  was  evidence  that  it  had  many 
visitors.  What  the  attraction  was,  I  could  not  have 
conjectured,  had  I  not  heard  its  story  previously.  It 
had  a  smooth,  rounding  top,  and  rose  above  the 
ground  to  a  height  of  seven  or  eight  feet.  At  its 
base  lay  three  heavy  stones,  the  largest  about  the  size 
of  a  peck  measure.  It  was  a  common  custom  among 
travellers  who  happened  into  Glen  Urtach  to  try 
"  saddling  the  mare  "  —  that  is,  to  attempt  putting 
the  stones  up  on  the  boulder.  They  slid  off  with 
surprising  ease,  and  few  persons  had  the  strength  or 
cleverness  to  lodge  all  three.  Still,  it  was  allowable 
to  boast,  even  if  you  only  succeeded  with  the  two 
smaller    ones.     That    the    sport    was    a    popular   one 


> 


An   Excursion  89 

was  attested  by  the  battered  whiteness  of  the  top  of 
the  boulder. 

Beyond  Glen  Urtach,  I  almost  at  once  entered  a 
second  glen,  the  name  of  which  I  can  spell  a  good  deal 
better  than  I  can  pronounce  it — Q-u-a-i-c-h.  The 
valley  here  was  not  confined  by  mountains,  as  had  been 
that  I  left  behind,  and  though  there  were  steep,  rocky 
hills  looking  down  at  some  remove,  the  near  landscape 
was  one  of  wide  lowlands,  girt  about  with  gentle  slopes 
of  heathery  moor.  Presently  I  approached  a  small 
lake,  and  by  its  shore  came  on  a  strange  little  village 
—  a  huddled,  irregular  group  of  possibly  twoscore 
dwellings.  But  many  of  these  were  roofless,  and 
others  had  only  remnants  of  roofs  —  a  few  gaunt  tim- 
bers, it  might  be,  with  sometimes  a  bit  of  old  thatch 
clinging  to  them.  Not  more  than  a  half-dozen  of  the 
houses  were  still  lived  in,  and  they  too  were  partakers 
in  the  general  ruin,  and  were  patched  and  dishevelled 
to  the  last  degree.  Their  roofs  were  of  leaky  thatch, 
with  turf  laid  on  thickly  along  the  gable  ends  and 
ridgepoles,  and  the  shaky  walls  were  propped  with  fre- 
quent posts.  Yet  certain  of  the  house  fronts  had 
redeeming  touches  in  the  form  of  flowering  vines 
growing  about  the  low  doorways,  and  there  was  one, 
where  the  doorstone  had  been  gone  over  recently  with 
the  tint  of  sky-blue  chalk  that  is  esteemed  so  attractive 
for  the  threshold  among  Scotch  cottage-dwellers. 


90 


The  Land  of  Heather 


On  the  grass,  near  one  of  the  houses,  lay  an  old 
man  taking  care  of  a  baby,  and  talking  with  a  rosy- 
cheeked  young  woman  who  was  standing  in  a  neigh- 
boring doorway.  I  had  hitched  my  horse  and  had 
been  walking  through  the  village,  but  now  I  stopped 
to  converse  with  this  group,  and  before  I  left  was  in- 
vited to  step  inside  the  dwelling.  It  had  no  second 
story,  nor  even  a  "  loft,"  and  the  living  rooms  were 
only  two,  unless  a  third  apartment,  reserved  for  the 
cow,  is  counted.  To  keep  the  warmth  from  escaping, 
the  low-raftered  kitchen  ceiling  was  pasted  all  over 
with  many  thicknesses  of  newspapers.  Underfoot  was 
a  paving  of  great  flat  stones,  with  wide  cracks  and 
uncertain  hollows  between.  In  a  pocket  of  the  wall 
was  a  bunch  of  a  bed,  and  conspicuous  among  the 
other  scanty  furnishings  was  a  rack  of  crockery,  with 
the  kist  (chest)  containing  the  family  supply  of  oat- 
meal beneath  it.  At  one  side  of  the  room  was  a  fire- 
place made  of  heavy  stones,  piled  up  so  as  to  leave  a 
depression  in  their  midst,  and  the  smoke  went  up  a  rude 
chimney  of  clay-daubed  slabs  hooding  out  from  the  wall. 
The  wide  chimney  orifice  began  about  four  feet  above 
the  hearth,  and  when  I  put  my  head  under  and  looked 
upward,  I  could  see  a  bit  of  sky  through  the  haze  of 
smoke.  That  the  wind  and  rain  must  have  driven 
down  freely  at  times  was  very  apparent. 

The  village  had  once  been  prosperous  and  full  of 


An  Excursion  91 

inhabitants,  but  the  little  farms  of  the  old  crofters  were 
now  a  part  of  one  large  farm,  or  were  growing  up  to 
heather.  I  was  informed  that  the  titled  owner  of  the 
glen  chose  to  "  kill  off"  the  villagers,  in  order  to  raise 
grouse.  No  doubt  the  fewer  people  and  the  less  land 
under  cultivation,  the  greater  the  area  of  moor,  and  the 
natural  sequence  would  be  more  game  and  more  pleas- 
ure for  the  aristocracy  in  their  hunting;  but  my  sym- 
pathies were  with  the  crofters,  and  I  found  the  village 
in  its  lonesome  decay  very  melancholy. 

I  had  been  warned  that  the  road  up  Glen  Quaich 
was  a  "  rough  "  one,  and  I  resumed  my  journey  with 
anticipations  of  discomfort.'  However,  "  rough  "  ap- 
plied to  a  road  means  a  good  deal  in  an  American's 
vocabulary,  and  it  was  an  agreeable  surprise  to  find 
that  nowhere  was  the  glen  road  otherwise  than  hard 
and  smooth.  Its  only  defect  was  its  narrowness. 
Two  teams  could  barely  scrape  past  when  they  met, 
and  usually  one  of  them  would  draw  well  out  by  the 
roadside  and  stop  to  give  the  other  as  free  right  of 
way  as  possible.  The  road  continued  the  full  length 
of  the  loch,  keeping  to  the  levels  near  the  shores. 
Then  it  turned  aside  and  began  a  zigzag  ascent  up  the 
steep  slopes  of  a  mountain.  At  length  I  reached  a 
plateau  of  wild,  rolling  moorland  that  had  no  touch  of 
human  softening  save  the  light  streak  of  the  unfenced 
highway  winding    through  the  brown  heather.     This 


92  The  Land  of  Heather 

road,  like  that  in  the  valley,  was  macadamized,  and  the 
encroaching  turf  at  the  sides  had  recently  been  spaded 
out.  Its  tidiness  was  in  curious  contrast  to  the  rude- 
ness of  the  region  it  traversed.  Everything  was  deso- 
late and  sombre  —  no  houses,  no  trees,  not  even  a 
bush — just  great  hills  and  deep  valleys  shorn  down 
to  turf  and  heather.  On  the  hilltops  and  the  steeper 
slopes  the  rugged  rocks  broke  through.  In  the  hol- 
lows were  black  bogs  and  dark  pools,  and  I  passed 
an  occasional  lonely  little  lake  bordered  with  a  rank 
growth  of  reeds.  There  were  streams  a-plenty,  but 
they  added  no  touch  of  brightness.  Their  pools  and 
fretting  shallows  and  foamy  tumbles  were  almost  lost 
in  the  boulders  that  strewed  their  courses,  and  they 
were  unshaded  and  bare  to  the  point  of  uncanniness. 
The  only  noticeable  flower  on  the  upland  was  the 
bell  heather.  It  grew  in  scattered  clumps  and  patches 
amid  the  common  ling  heather  that  would  paint  the 
hills  a  month  later,  but  which  as  yet  was  only  in 
bud.  The  heather  did  not  cover  in  one  soHd  mass 
the  whole  moor.  Instead  there  was  a  constant  inter- 
mitting with  irregular  areas  of  turf  or  rusty  earth. 
The  explanation  was  that  every  spring  strips  of  heather 
were  burnt  off  by  the  shepherds,  an  acre  or  so  to  a 
strip,  to  give  the  grass  and  the  tender,  new-starting 
heather  a  chance  to  furnish  food  for  the  sheep.  But 
the  fire  was   not  allowed   to  spread    beyond   definite 


An  Excursion 


93 


limits,  for  the  gentry  were  very  particular  that  the 
game  birds  should  have  plenty  of  shrubbery  in  which 
to  build  their  nests. 

As  I  journeyed  through  the  moorland  desolation  I 
occasionally  roused  a  peesweep  (lapwing)  into  com- 
plaining crying  or  started  up  a  family  of  grouse.  All 
along  were  sheep,  in  couples  and  little  groups,  feeding 
on  the  thin  grasses.  They  were  long-haired  sheep 
with  black  faces  and  curling  horns.  Each  of  the  old 
sheep  was  apt  to  have  a  lamb  with  it  and,  in  case  such 
were  near  the  road,  the  little  one  at  my  approach  would 
slip  around  behind  its  mother  and  look  out  at  me 
inquiringly  from  its  safe  retreat. 

Once  I  passed  a  line  of  game  covers  —  perhaps  a 
dozen  of  them  in  all  —  stretching  along  over  the 
moor  eight  or  ten  rods  apart.  Each  cover  was  just 
a  bank  of  sods  about  four  feet  wide  and  four  high, 
with  a  little  pile  of  sods  a  few  paces  in  the  rear  for  a 
seat.  In  the  season  the  sportsmen,  hidden  by  the 
covers,  shot  the  birds  as  fast  as  the  gamekeepers  drove 
them  up  within  range. 

The  weather  was  threatening,  and  the  wind  blew, 
and  I  felt  the  touch  now  and  then  of  a  stray  drop  of 
rain.  I  was  therefore  the  more  rejoiced  when  later 
in  the  day  the  roadway  began  perceptibly  to  descend ; 
for  as  soon  as  I  reached  the  lowlands,  I  was  certain 
to  find  some  village  and  a  place  to  spend  the  night. 


94  The  Land  of  Heather 

Far  on  ahead  I  could  see  a  deep  valley,  and  beyond 
the  valley  a  range  of  great  blue  mountains  rising  up 
and  up  till  their  summits  were  lost  in  the  drifting  gray 
cloud  mists.  The  road  kept  taking  steeper  dips  as 
I  went  on,  and  the  little  horse  with  the  heavy  cart 
pushing  behind  seemed  quite  disturbed  in  its  mind, 
and  dug  in  its  heels,  and  crept  down  at  a  pace  that 
would  shame  a  snail.  By  and  by  I  came  to  a  final 
descent  through  a  wood  that  was  so  slippery  and  so 
nearly  perpendicular  that  I  took  pity  on  the  horse 
and  got  out  and  walked.  But  no  sooner  had  we 
arrived  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  than  we  emerged, 
as  if  by  magic,  into  a  neat  little  hamlet,  so  hedged 
about  on  every  hand  by  great  trees  that  it  looked  as 
if  it  had  been  built  in  a  clearing  of  the  primeval 
forest.  The  dwellings  crowded  along  both  sides  of 
an  oblong  open  of  hard-beaten  earth,  where  a  few  dis- 
couraged grasses  grew.  At  one  end  of  the  broad 
street  or  common  stood  an  old  church,  while  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  distant  at  the  other  end  was  an  ivied  stone 
archway,  with  iron  gates  opening  into  a  great  park 
around  a  castle.  The  village  was  Kenmore,  at  the 
foot  of  Loch  Tay,  and  the  lake  was  close  by,  spread- 
ing away  to  the  west  in  a  narrow  passage  between  the 
great  hills  and  mountains  that  hemmed  it  in. 

After  a  night  spent    at    an    attractive   whitewashed 
hotel  fronting  on  the  common,  I  went  on,  keeping  to 


By  the  Fireside 


An  Excursion  g^ 

the  south  side  of  the  loch,  and  travelling  westward. 
It  was  a  doubtful  day  of  mingled  sunshine  and  light 
showers.  The  mountains  round  about  brightened  and 
darkened  in  a  continual  change  of  drifting  light  and 
shadows.  Their  higher  peaks  were  always  cloud- 
capped,  and  made  one  feel  as  if  the  occasional  showers 
that  came  misting  down  their  slopes  were  manufactured 
and  sent  out  from  the  hidden  summits.  The  lake, 
with  its  wooded  borders  and  its  mountain  setting,  was 
very  beautiful.  Along  the  steep  shores  I  came  on 
frequent  thatched  cottages  that  were  as  forlorn  and  as 
rude  in  their  surroundings  as  those  I  had  seen  the  day 
before  in  Glen  Quaich.  Some  of  the  gardens  con- 
nected with  these  cots  were  on  the  most  precipitous 
slopes  imaginable,  and  as  the  rows  without  exception 
ran  the  steep  way  of  the  hill,  I  thought  the  owners 
would  almost  need  the  aid  of  a  ladder  to  climb  up  and 
down  them. 

Toward  noon  I  left  the  lake  and  took  a  road  that 
slanted  up  the  hills,  and  a  mile  or  two  of  climbing 
brought  me  out  on  the  barren  wastes  of  the  heights. 
The  moors  were  of  the  same  deserted  brownness  as 
those  I  had  crossed  the  previous  day,  with  the  same 
dull  reaches  of  heather,  the  craggy  ridges  and  un- 
shaded streams,  and  the  scattered  groups  of  sheep.  I 
saw  many  depressions  where  peat  had  recently  been  cut. 
These  cuttings  were    always    in  marshy  hollows,  but 


g6  The  Land  of  Heather 

the  hollows  were  by  no  means  confined  to  the  valleys. 
Often  they  were  on  the  highest  parts  of  the  moor. 
The  peat  holes  were  rarely  more  than  three  or  four 
feet  deep,  and  except  for  the  dark,  ragged  banks  that 
bordered  them,  they  were  hardly  noticeable  in  the 
moorland  landscape.  All  about  the  cavities  the  peat 
bricks  lay  drying.  Some  of  them  had  evidently  only 
been  dug  out  a  day  or  two,  and  looked  like  oblongs 
of  stiff  black  mud.  They  were  as  full  of  water  as 
a  sponge,  and  would  lie  spread  on  the  heath  for  a 
month  before  they  would  be  sufficiently  dry  to  be 
carted  to  the  farmhouses. 

My  day's  journey  came  to  an  end  when,  in  the  late 
afternoon,  I  reached  a  village  named  Amulree.  Its 
most  conspicuous  building  was  a  small  church  crown- 
ing a  bare  knoll  and  having  round  about  a  tiny  church- 
yard crowded  with  graves.  From  here  I  could  see  a 
lonely  treeless  schoolhouse  a  quarter  of  a  mile  out  on 
the  moor  where  two  roads  met.  The  rest  of  the  vil- 
lage consisted  of  a  small  hotel  and  half  a  dozen  houses 
reposing  in  a  valley  where  an  old  stone  bridge  spanned 
a  little  river.  It  seemed  about  as  much  lost  to  the 
world  as  it  well  could  be;  yet  the  hotel  had  many 
visitors  in  summer,  attracted  by  the  fishing  that  was 
to  be  had  in  the  stream.  Just  then  the  only  fisher- 
men lodgers  were  four  cigarette-smoking  young  men 
with  very  high  white  collars,  and  other  things  to  match. 


An  Excursion  ^y 

I  did  not  think  the  fish  would  suffer  much  at  their 
hands. 

On  the  borders  of  Amulree  I  visited  one  of  the 
rude,  thatched  farmhouses  that  were  common  in  the 
region,  and  which  was  of  especial  interest  because  it 
was  a  typical,  old-fashioned  cotter's  house.  As  I 
entered  the  yard  two  dogs  hanging  about  the  door- 
way barked  at  me  menacingly ;  but  an  old  woman 
came  out  and  quieted  them,  and  when  I  mentioned 
that  I  was  from  America,  she  invited  me  in,  only 
would  I  wait  outside  until  she  could  "  redd  up  the 
hoose  "  ? 

Near  the  doorway  was  a  tub  turned  bottom  upward, 
and  on  that  I  sat  down  and  looked  about.  The  view 
was  not  very  inspiring,  for  it  was  mainly  comprised  in 
a  rough,  sloping  yard,  and  a  group  of  dismal  little 
stone  sheds.  Several  of  the  sheds  were  roofless  and 
half  fallen,  and  the  farm  tools  got  along  in  corners 
and  under  the  shreds  of  roof  still  left,  as  best  they 
could.  The  house  was  soon  made  presentable,  and  I 
went  in.  It  was  a  long,  low  building  with  three  rooms, 
"a  but,  a  ben,  and  a  byre."  Translated,  that  means 
a  kitchen,  a  best  room,  and  a  cow  stable.  The  kitchen 
occupied  the  middle,  between  the  other  two  apart- 
ments, and  was  a  combination  workroom,  sitting  room, 
bedroom,  and  pantry.  "  Ben  the  hoose  "  served  like- 
wise as  a  sleeping  room,  and  also  as  a  storeroom  and 

H 


98  The  Land  of  Heather 

parlor,  while  the  byre  was  put  to  double  use  as  a  cow 
stable  and  henhouse. 

The  kitchen  had  been  cleared  of  the  pots  and  pans 
and  odds  and  ends  that  had  no  doubt  been  lying 
around  handy  all  over  the  floor  previous  to  my  unex- 
pected advent,  and  in  so  far  was  not  wholly  charac- 
teristic. It  was  a  rickety  apartment,  much  confined 
in  both  height  and  breadth,  and  with  no  ceiling  save 
some  boards  laid  loosely  on  the  beams  overhead. 
The  crooked  timbers  of  the  framework  bulged  out  into 
the  room  here  and  there,  and  the  stones  of  the  floor 
were  so  rough,  and  had  such  cracks  and  crevices  be- 
tween, that  there  was  need  of  practice  to  keep  one*s 
balance  on  them.  As  for  getting  chairs  or  tables  to  sit 
level  on  such  a  floor,  that  was  simply  impossible.  But 
what  seemed  to  me  the  least  desirable  feature  of  the 
kitchen  was  its  odor,  —  and  no  wonder  it  had  an  odor, 
for  there  was  the  cow  stable  just  beyond  a  thin,  shaky 
partition.  On  the  hearth  was  a  great  basket  of  eggs 
which  my  hostess  would  presently  carry  out  to  a 
grocer's  cart  that  visited  the  vicinity  once  a  week, 
selling  store  wares  and  picking  up  small  produce  in 
exchange.  The  woman  and  her  brother  were  the 
only  dwellers  in  the  house.  They  had  quite  an  ex- 
tended farm,  chiefly  devoted  to  sheep-raising,  and  in 
spite  of  the  lack  of  comforts  in  the  house  and  the 
dilapidation    of  the    buildings,  it    would    not  be  sur- 


An  Excursion 


99 


prising  if  these  farm  folk  had  a  good  bit  of  money 
laid  aside. 

This  visit  to  the  cotter's  house  at  Amulree  was  the 
most  interesting  incident  of  the  latter  part  of  my  ex- 
cursion. The  experiences  of  the  final  day  were  largely 
a  repetition  of  those  already  related,  and  I  have  only 
to  add  that  my  leisurely  travelling,  with  its  various 
stops  and  asides,  brought  me  back  to  the  shoemaker's 
cottage  in  Drumtochty  about  sunset. 


Puttin'  oot  the  Dung." 


HISTORIC    GROUND 


Entrance  to  a  Close 


MIDSUMMER 
had  come  and 
passed,  and 
there  were  hints  of 
autumn  in  the  bare 
mowing-fields,  and  in 
an  occasional  chill 
night.  The  rowan 
trees  in  the  dens  were 
beginning  to  get  gay 
with  their  clusters  of 
scarlet  berries,  the 
moors  were  taking  on 
a  pink  cast  with  the 
first  opening  of  the 
heather  buds,  blue- 
bells nodded  by  every 
pathside,  and  the  wild 
rosebushes,  whose  riot- 
ous tangles,  when    I 


lOO 


Historic  Ground  loi 

first  came,  were  profusely  adorned  with  bloom,  had 
dropped  their  petals  and  were  now  dotted  over  with 
green  hips.  So,  too,  the  hawthorn  hedges  which  had 
been  in  their  fulness  of  frosty  white  two  months  before 
were  now  loaded  with  tiny  haws. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  took  my  final  leave  of 
Drumtochty,  intending  to  proceed  more  or  less  directly 
to  Edinburgh.  But  I  was  in  no  haste,  and  most  of 
the  first  day  I  spent  in  getting  better  acquainted  with 
Perth  and  its  vicinity.  Like  all  Scotch  towns,  Perth 
is  very  much  crowded  in  its  poorer  parts,  and  many 
curious  little  passageways  dive  in  among  the  shops 
that  front  on  the  chief  streets  to  the  huddles  of 
dwellings  in  behind.  These  passages  are  miniature 
tunnels,  and  above  each  narrow  entering  arch  a  name 
is  painted  —  such  and  such  a  "close."  If  I  went  on 
through,  I  soon  came  on  a  small  paved  open,  hedged 
about  with  old  stone  houses,  though  once  in  a  while  a 
close  took  more  public  character  by  having  in  its  semi- 
seclusion  an  inn,  or  two  or  three  small  shops. 

The  people  swarmed  in  these  humbler  neighbor- 
hoods, and  slovenly  women  and  dirty,  half-clad  chil- 
dren were  everywhere.  Among  other  street  scenes  I 
recall  a  tattered  old  woman  talking  with  some  men 
and  smoking  a  stub  of  a  pipe.  She  would  take  out 
the  pipe  every  now  and  then,  and  spit  on  the  pave- 
ment just  like  a  veteran  male  tobacco-user. 


I02  The  Land  of  Heather 

Another  picturesque  remembrance  of  the  city  has 
to  do  with  a  park  on  its  borders  known  as  the  North 
Inch.  This  park  was  a  great  expanse  of  grass  with  a 
few  rows  of  young  trees  started  on  it.  A  number  of 
cows  were  grazing  there,  and  a  scattering  of  strollers 
and  bicyclers  were  on  the  paths ;  but  the  main  feature 
of  the  path  was  the  clothes-poles  that  stretched  away 
in  hundreds  for  a  mile  or  so.  This  network  of  lines 
was  hung  full  of  garments,  both  of  white  and  gayer 
colors,  and  the  grass  was  spread  with  quantities  more, 
and  women  with  barrows  were  busy  in  the  midst  of 
this  mammoth  wash,  so  that  taken  all  together  it  sug- 
gested, as  viewed  from  afar,  some  gaudy  show  in  full 
blast.  Children  were  numerous  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  clothes,  many  of  them  babies  in  their  mother*s 
arms  or  in  the  care  of  an  older  sister.  But  there  were 
plenty  of  toddlers,  too,  and  others  a  trifle  more  mature, 
who  gave  their  energies  to  racing  and  romping,  turn- 
ing summersaults,  and  making  valorous  attempts  to 
stand  on  their  heads. 

After  a  noon  lunch  I  took  a  tram  for  Scone  Palace. 
This  tram  was  of  the  usual  British  type  —  a  clumsy, 
two-story  horse-car,  plastered  all  over  with  a  crazy- 
patchwork  of  advertisements.  A  narrow,  winding  stair 
at  the  rear  gave  access  to  the  roof,  and  the  novice  finds 
the  ascent  rather  awkward,  and  the  downlook  from  the 
top  impresses    him  with    an  exaggerated    idea  of  the 


Historic  Ground  103 

height,  and  makes  him  fear  the  vehicle  may  overturn 
from  topheaviness.  Otherwise  the  roof  is  an  agreeable 
place  in  pleasant  weather.  Scone  proved  to  be  less 
than  a  half-hour's  ride  distant.  The  palace  is  a  gray, 
castlelike  mansion,  reposing  in  the  retirement  of  an 
attractive  park  that  extends  for  several  miles  along  the 
banks  of  the  river  Tay.  There  are  many  acres  of 
close-clipped  lawns,  and  trees  of  all  kinds,  scattered 
and  in  groves,  not  a  few  of  them  so  lofty  and  deep- 
shadowed  as  to  be  suggestive  of  tropical  luxuriance. 

I  saw  the  palace,  but  the  flag  floating  from  the  lof- 
tiest tower  showed  that  its  noble  resident  was  at  home, 
and  I  was  only  allowed  to  gaze  at  a  distance.  On  the 
present  palace  grounds,  not  far  from  the  building  itself, 
was  once  a  village  where  now  a  heavy  wood  rises. 
The  market  cross  still  stands  to  mark  the  centre  of  the 
ancient  hamlet,  and  the  people  of  the  region  say, 
"  Many  a  village  has  lost  its  cross,  but  only  one  cross 
has  lost  its  village."  The  burial-place  of  this  olden- 
time  community  is  just  aside  from  the  main  avenue  to 
the  palace,  and  that  tiny  plot  within  his  grounds  the 
Earl  does  not  own,  nor  can  he  shut  the  public  from 
entering  his  park  on  their  way  to  it.  This  is  said  to 
be  a  sore  trial  to  the  dweller  in  the  palace,  and  it  is 
related  that  in  his  younger  days  he  spent  ^40,000  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  get  from  the  courts  the  right  to  close 
this  little  cemetery. 


I04  The  Land  of  Heather 

The  first  mention  of  Scone  in  history  dates  back 
eleven  centuries,  at  which  time  a  monastery  was  built 
there.  The  most  notable  treasure  that  the  holy  fathers 
of  the  institution  had  in  their  care  was  the  stone  on 
which  the  kings  of  Scotland  were  inaugurated.  This 
stone  is  now  in  Westminster  Abbey,  immediately  be- 
neath the  seat  of  the  chair  in  which  the  kings  of  Eng- 
land are  crowned.  It  is  a  clumsy,  oblong  block  of  dull 
reddish  sandstone,  with  a  few  small  imbedded  pebbles. 
If  its  legendary  story  is  to  be  credited,  it  was  originally 
the  pillow  of  the  patriarch  Jacob  at  Luz,  when  he 
dreamed  his  dream  of  the  ladder  to  heaven,  on  which 
the  angels  were  ascending  and  descending.  Later, 
about  the  time  of  Moses,  the  stone  finds  its  way  into 
the  hands  of  one  Gathelus,  son  of  an  Athenian  king. 
This  Gathelus  became  a  man  of  note  in  Egypt,  where 
he  entered  the  service  of  Pharaoh.  He  rose  rapidly, 
and  finally  married  that  ruler's  daughter  Scota.  Gathe- 
lus was  on  excellent  terms  with  Moses,  who,  shortly 
before  the  plagues  were  visited  on  the  land,  gave  him 
a  friendly  hint  of  what  was  coming.  So  impressed  was 
Gathelus  with  the  undesirability  of  experiencing  these 
plagues,  that  he  took  ship  and  sailed  away  to  Spain. 
There  he  acquired  a  wide  kingdom,  and  there  he  died. 

The  ancient  stone  which  Jacob  had  used  as  a  pillow 
had  always  been  numbered  among  the  dead  monarch's 
most  valuable  possessions,  and  he  bequeathed  it  to  his 


Historic  Ground 


105 


son,  who  took  his  legacy  to  Ireland,  and  by  virtue  of 
it  estabHshed  himself  as  chief  ruler  of  the  Isle.  He 
placed  the  stone  on  the  famous  hill  of  Tara,  where  it 
served  as  the  coronation  seat  of  a  long  succession  of 
Irish  kings.  Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  thing  about 
the  stone  was  that  it  gave  forth  a  peculiar  sound  each 
time  a  king  sat  on  it,  which  intimated  its  opinion  of 
the  new  ruler,  and  this  judgment  was  deemed  prophet- 
ical of  the  nature  of  the  reign ;  but  it  seems  to  have 
lost  its  power  of  thus  expressing  its  opinion  of  fledg- 
ling monarchs  when  it  was  removed  from  Tara. 

The  belief  was  general  that  wherever  was  found  the 
stone  the  Scottish  race  was  certain  to  rule.  Fergus, 
first  king  of  the  Scots  in  Scotland,  carried  the  stone  of 
mystery  with  him  when  he  crossed  over  to  that  country 
nearly  four  hundred  years  before  Christ,  and  deposited 
it  in  the  castle  of  Dunstaffnage,  near  Oban.  In  that 
residence  of  the  early  Scotch  kings  it  remained  until 
the  year  834,  when  it  was  conveyed  by  Kenneth  II  to 
Scone.  From  then  on  the  history  of  the  stone  be- 
comes more  authentic.  It  was  placed  in  the  monastery 
burial-ground.  When  a  coronation  took  place  the 
stone  was  covered  with  cloth  of  gold,  and  the  king  was 
conducted  to  it  with  impressive  pomp  by  the  greatest 
nobles  of  the  realm.  Crowds  of  people  gazed  on  the 
solemn  scene  from  a  near  hill  known  as  the  Mount  of 
Belief,  or  vulgarly  as  "  Boot  Hill/*  a  title  which  has  a 


io6  The  Land  of  Heather 

curious  legendary  explanation.  The  legend  is  that 
when  the  barons  came  to  be  present  at  a  coronation 
they  stood  in  boots  half-filled  with  earth.  Each  had 
brought  this  soil  from  his  native  district  that  he  might 
take  part  in  the  ceremonies  standing  on  his  "  own 
land."  At  the  close  of  the  exercises  the  boots  were 
taken  off  and  emptied,  and  in  process  of  time  these 
emptyings  formed  Boot  Hill. 

The  "  Stone  of  Destiny  "  was  the  visible  sign  of  the 
Scotch  monarchy,  and  its  loss  was  keenly  felt  when 
Edward  I  of  England  bore  it  off  to  Westminster  Abbey. 
No  sooner  had  Scotland  won  its  freedom,  than  King 
Robert  Bruce,  in  concluding  the  treaty  of  peace  with 
the  English,  stipulated  that  the  stone  should  be  re- 
stored. But  the  Londoners  rose  in  a  mob  to  resist 
the  fulfilling  of  this  provision,  and  the  treaty  was  later 
abrogated  to  allow  the  stone  to  continue  at  Westmin- 
ster. There  it  was  nearly  three  hundred  years  after- 
ward, when  a  purely  Scottish  prince,  James,  son  of  Mary 
Stuart,  ascended  the  English  throne.  The  two  king- 
doms then  became  one,  and  all  parties  concerned  were 
as  content  to  have  the  stone  in  London  as  elsewhere. 

After  the  day  spent  at  Perth  and  Scone  I  travelled 
eastward  to  Kinross,  on  the  shores  of  Loch  Leven.  I 
suppose  the  majority  of  visitors  are  drawn  to  the  loch 
by  its  fishing,  reputed  to  be  the  finest  in  the  British 
Isles,  but  for  me  its  attraction  consisted  in  the  music 


Historic  Ground  107 

of  its  name  and  its  association  with  Scotch  song,  story, 
and  history.  Of  all  the  nooks  and  corners  into  which 
my  rambling  in  the  vicinity  of  Kinross  led  me,  I  liked 
best  a  little  grove  of  trees  just  back  from  the  reedy 
borders  of  the  lake,  not  far  from  the  village.  It 
afforded  a  most  agreeable  shelter  and  lounging-place, 
especially  in  the  cloudy  and  windy  weather  that  pre- 
vailed during  my  sojourn.  The  waters  were  gray  and 
white-capped  and  the  sky  was  rarely  otherwise  than 
dull  and  threatening,  though  now  and  then  blue  loop- 
holes appeared  which  let  stray  patches  of  sunshine 
through.  Usually  a  wild  duck  or  two  would  be  in 
sight,  bobbing  over  the  waves  with  corklike  buoyancy. 
The  view  was  pleasing,  but  not  in  any  wise  striking. 
Across  the  lake  rose  a  green,  treeless  mountain-range, 
and  another  fine  grassy  range  lay  southward,  while  the 
loch  itself  was  dotted  with  a  number  of  small  islands. 
On  the  largest  of  these,  five  acres  in  extent,  stood  the 
battered  ruin  of  a  castle  peeping  out  from  among 
the  trees,  and  imparting  a  most  stirring  interest  to  the 
scene,  for  those  walls  long  ago  held  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots,  a  prisoner.  She  was  only  twenty-five  years  of 
age,  yet  shortly  before  she  had  married  for  the  third 
time.  This  marriage  followed  close  on  the  assassina- 
tion of  her  second  husband.  Lord  Darnley,  in  whose 
death  the  new  consort,  the  Earl  of  Bothwell,  was  be- 
lieved to  be  implicated.     Civil  war  resulted,  and  the 


io8  The  Land  of  Heather 

queen  fell  into  the  hands  of  her  enemies,  and  was 
taken  to  this  lonely  island  in  Loch  Leven. 

It  was  her  first  real  imprisonment,  though  there  had 
been  short  periods  previously,  in  her  checkered  career, 
when  she  had  been  held  in  restraint  scarcely  less  har- 
assing. The  southeastern  tower  of  the  castle  was  set 
apart  for  her  lodgings,  and  Lady  Douglas  was  ap- 
pointed her  jailer.  Though  the  queen's  followers  had 
been  beaten  and  dispersed  in  the  recent  strife,  her  party 
was  by  no  means  extinct,  and  the  leaders  were  continu- 
ally plotting,  while  they  awaited  a  favorable  opportunity 
to  effect  her  release  and  restore  her  to  power.  Neither 
the  prison  walls  nor  the  isolation  sufficed  to  prevent  her 
from  keeping  in  constant  secret  communication  with  her 
friends.  She  was  ably  aided  in  this  by  her  faithful  ser- 
vant, John  Beaton,  who  hovered  in  disguise  near  Loch 
Leven,  and  never  failed  to  find  means  of  carrying  mes- 
sages to  and  fro. 

At  length  George  Douglas,  son  of  the  royal  prison- 
er's jailer,  became  interested  in  her  behalf,  and  assisted 
her  in  arranging  a  plan  of  escape  with  an  association 
of  loyal  gentlemen  who  had  pledged  themselves  to 
break  her  chains.  But  before  the  project  could  be 
carried  out  it  was  betrayed,  and  George  Douglas  was 
expelled  from  the  castle  in  disgrace,  and  forbidden  ever 
to  set  foot  on  the  island  again. 

Restraints  were  redoubled;  yet  it  was   only  a  few 


Historic  Ground  109 

days  later  that  the  queen  nearly  succeeded  in  getting 
away.  A  laundress  was  employed  who  came  across 
the  water  frequently  from  Kinross  to  fetch  and  carry 
the  linen  belonging  to  her  Majesty  and  her  ladies. 
This  laundress  consented  to  assist  the  queen  to  regain 
her  freedom.  George  Douglas,  who,  though  expelled 
from  the  castle,  remained  concealed  in  the  house  of  a 
friend  at  Kinross,  was  to  help  also.  Until  the  plans 
were  perfected,  Mary  pretended  to  be  ill,  and  passed 
her  mornings  in  bed,  apparently  indifferent  to  every- 
thing. But  one  day,  when  the  laundress  came  as  usual, 
and  went  to  the  queen's  room  to  deUver  the  clothes 
she  had  washed,  and  tie  up  and  carry  away  another 
bundle,  Mary  slipped  out  of  bed  and  disguised  herself 
in  the  woman's  humble  garments.  Then  she  drew  a 
muffler  over  her  face,  took  the  soiled  clothes  in  her 
arms,  and  passed  out  of  the  castle  to  the  boat  unsus- 
pected. All  went  well  until,  midway  between  the  for- 
tress and  the  shore,  one  of  the  rowers,  fancying  there 
was  something  peculiar  about  the  bearing  of  their  pas- 
senger, said  jokingly  to  his  assistant,  "  Come,  let  us 
see  what  manner  of  dame  this  is." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word  he  endeavored  to  pull 
aside  the  lady's  muffler.  She  put  up  her  hands  to  re- 
sist, and  their  whiteness  and  delicacy  made  known  her 
identity.  She  ordered  the  rowers  to  go  on  and  take 
her  to  the  shore,  and  threatened  to  punish  them  if  they 


no  The   Land  of  Heather 

refused ;  but  they  were  aware  how  powerless  she  was, 
and  instead  they  rowed  back  to  the  island,  agreeing, 
however,  not  to  inform  any  one  of  her  attempted  flight. 

Soon  after  this  Mary  found  an  effective  ally  in  a 
boy  of  sixteen,  who  acted  as  page  to  the  lady  of  the 
castle.  This  lad  went  by  the  name  of  Willie  Douglas, 
though  among  the  inmates  of  the  fortress  he  was 
oftener  spoken  of  as  "  Orphan  Willie,"  or  "  Foundling 
Willie,"  from  the  fact  that  he  had  been  discovered  lying 
near  the  castle  entrance  when  an  infant,  abandoned 
to  the  good-will  of  those  within.  WiUie  became  a 
most  ardent  vota.ry  of  the  captive  queen,  and  he  told 
her  that  below  her  tower  was  a  postern  gate,  through 
which  they  sometimes  went  out  in  one  of  the  boats  on 
the  lake ;  he  would  get  the  boat  ready  and  bring  the 
key  of  the  gate.  The  bov  got  word  to  George  Doug- 
las, and  a  company  of  armed  horsemen  concealed  them- 
selves in  a  glen  across  the  water,  ready  to  become  an 
escort  for  the  queen  the  moment  she  was  liberated. 

The  guards  who  kept  watch  night  and  day  at  the 
gates  of  her  Majesty's  tower  were  accustomed  to  quit 
their  post  at  half-past  seven  each  evening,  long  enough 
to  sup  with  the  castle  household  in  the  great  hall. 
Meanwhile  the  five  large  keys  attached  to  an  iron  chain 
were  placed  beside  Sir  WiUiam  Douglas  on  the  table 
at  which  he  and  his  mother  sat  in  state.  While  wait- 
ing on  the  knight  and  the  lady  Orphan  Willie  con- 


Historic   Ground  1 1 1 

trived  to  drop  a  napkin  over  the  keys  and  get  them 
off  the  table  without  being  detected.  Much  elated,  he 
ran  with  them  to  the  queen's  tower.  Mary  knew  his 
plans,  and  was  ready  to  start  as  soon  as  he  appeared. 
She  was  attired  in  the  clothes  of  one  of  her  maids,  who 
stayed  behind  to  personate  her  royal  mistress.  The 
queen  hurried  to  the  boat,  and  Willie  locked  all  the 
gates  behind  them  and  threw  the  keys  into  the  water. 
Then  with  all  his  might  he  rowed  for  the  opposite 
shore.  The  loyal  horsemen  met  them,  and  they  were 
off  into  the  night. 

After  fourteen  months'  imprisonment  Mary  Queen 
of  Scots  was  free,  yet  in  nearly  all  the  days  following 
she  was  a  fugitive,  even  until  she  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Elizabeth  of  England,  and  once  more  was  behind 
prison  walls,  no  more  to  have  libertv  save  as  death  on 
the  scaffold  released  her  and  ended  her  troubled,  fate- 
ful Ufe. 

From  Kinross  I  went  to  Edinburgh,  the  most  pic- 
turesque and  interesting  large  town  in  Britain.  The 
ground  on  which  it  is  built  is  much  wrinkled  into  hills 
and  vallevs,  and  on  a  crag  that  overtops  all  the  rest  is 
the  castle.  The  town's  origin  is  lost  in  dim  antiquit)', 
but  no  doubt  its  founders  were  attracted  to  the  spot 
by  the  defensive  advantages  of  the  steep  isolated  castle 
rock.  There  they  built  their  clay  fort,  and  then  they 
began  tilling  the  land  in  the  valleys  and  on  the  hills 


112  The  Land  of  Heather 

neighboring,  and  when  danger  threatened,  they  drove 
their  cattle  to  the  rock.  On  three  sides  the  eminence 
drops  away  almost  perpendicularly,  but  on  the  fourth 
side  it  slopes  gently  eastward  in  the  form  of  a  narrow 
ridge,  along  the  top  and  sides  of  which  a  town  grad- 
ually formed. 

I  had  not  been  long  in  Edinburgh  before  I  turned 
my  steps  castleward,  crossed  the  drawbridge  that  spans 
the  ancient  moat,  and  dodged  along  through  the  guides 
who  blocked  the  way  with  offers  of  their  services  until 
I  passed  under  the  portcullis-guarded  arch  of  the  en- 
trance. As  I  went  in  a  squad  of  Scotch  soldiers 
marched  jauntily  out  with  their  pipes  jigging  merrily 
on  ahead.  The  soldiers  with  their  bare  knees,  their 
kilts,  high  black  hats,  and  other  fancy  fixings,  looked 
more  as  if  they  were  gotten  up  for  a  circus  parade  than 
for  war,  but  they  were  tall,  brawny  fellows,  and  I  do 
not  question  their  effectiveness. 

The  castle  is  to-day  mainly  composed  of  heavy, 
gray  stone  barracks  of  no  great  antiquity,  but  among 
the  rest  is  a  tiny  chapel  erected  about  eight  hundred 
years  ago,  which  claims  to  date  back  farther  than  any 
other  building  in  Scotland.  The  sole  occupant  of  the 
chapel,  as  I  saw  it,  was  an  old  woman  who  sat  behind 
an  array  of  guide-books  for  sale,  like  a  venerable  spider 
in  its  lair,  hopeful  of  enticing  unwary  flies.  In  a  room 
near  by  one  can  look  through  some  iron  bars  at  the 


Historic  Ground  113 

ancient  Scottish  crown,  sceptre,  and  other  gewgaws  of 
this  sort ;  but  there  was  to  me  much  more  charm  in 
the  view  from  the  fortification  parapets  off  over  the 
smoky  city.  The  castle  stands  at  the  far  end  of  the 
ridge,  where  the  rock  rises  highest,  and  you  cannot  but 
think  the  situation  must  have  possessed  almost  im- 
pregnable strength  in  the  days  before  the  invention  of 
heavy  siege  pieces.  Nothing,  too,  would  seem  more 
unlikely  than  escape  from  the  dungeon  prisons  hewn 
in  the  solid  rock ;  yet  the  castle  has  been  often  taken, 
and  prisoners  have  frequently  found  means  to  get  free. 
Even  the  almost  vertical  cliffs  have  been  scaled  on 
occasions,  and  it  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  the  present- 
day  little  boys  of  Edinburgh  to  risk  their  necks  in 
trying  to  climb  the  crags. 

Close  under  the  base  of  the  hill  to  the  north  is  a 
narrow  glen.  Through  the  centre  of  this  runs  the 
railway,  but  the  rest  is  laid  out  in  lawns  and  flower- 
beds, with  a  mingling  of  shrubbery  and  trees.  For- 
merly a  body  of  water  known  as  the  North  Loch  filled 
the  hollow.  The  loch  was  a  great  help  in  affording 
protection  from  that  direction.  To  gain  something 
of  the  same  security  on  the  other  side  a  wall  was 
erected.  For  many  centuries  the  inhabitants  huddled 
their  dwellings  along  the  ridge  immediately  east 
of  the  castle,  and  they  were  all  loath  to  build  out- 
side   the    city    wall,    because    a    house    thus    exposed 


114  The  Land  of  Heather 

was  nearly  certain  to  be  rifled  and  burned.  Nor  was  a 
house  inside  the  walls  wholly  safe.  The  town  was 
within  easy  access  from  the  English  borders,  and  again 
and  again  the  southern  raiders  gained  entrance  and 
robbed  and  wrecked  the  houses  as  they  willed,  while 
the  people  fled  to  the  castle  and  to  the  shelter  of  the 
surrounding  forests. 

Edinburgh  became  the  recognized  capital  of  the 
kingdom  after  the  murder  of  James  I  at  Perth  in 
1437.  No  other  city  in  the  realm  afforded  as  great 
security  to  the  royal  household  against  the  designs  of 
the  nobles,  and  thenceforth  it  was  their'  place  of  resi- 
dence. There  parliament  met,  and  there  were  located 
the  mint  and  various  other  government  offices.  Its  im- 
portance was  in  this  way  greatly  increased,  and  it  grew 
more  and  more  densely  populated.  But  the  days  of 
feudalism  were  not  yet  past,  and  wars,  plottings,  and 
lawlessness  abounded.  Edinburgh  was  a  centre  of 
this  ferment,  for  which  reason  the  inhabitants  were  as 
reluctant  as  ever  to  live  outside  the  walls.  To  gain 
room  they  expanded  their  houses  skyward.  The 
town  at  this  period  consisted  of  the  original  chief 
thoroughfare  called  the  High  Street  and  a  parallel 
way  on  the  south,  narrow  and  confined,  that  was 
known  as  the  Cowgate,  and  not  until  the  middle  of 
the  eighteenth  century  did  the  citizens  begin  to  build 
beyond  the  limits.     The  High  Street  and  the  Cowgate 


Historic  Ground  115 

were  connected  by  scores  of  narrow  cross  alleys,  or 
closes.  The  dwellings  seldom  contained  less  than  six 
floors.  Often  there  were  ten  or  twelve  floors,  and 
the  great  height  to  which  the  houses  towered  was  the 
more  imposing  because  they  were  built  on  an  emi- 
nence. "Auld  Reekie"  is  the  term  applied  to  this 
section  of  the  city,  and  it  is  grimy  enough  with  the 
stains  of  smoke  and  age  to  amply  merit  the  name. 
The  sanitary  conditions  are  in  many  respects  those  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  and  scores  of  families  are 
crowded  in  some  of  the  tall  structures.  Probably 
no  other  city  in  the  kingdom,  not  even  London,  has 
such  grewsome  rookeries. 

Frequently  the  old  houses  with  their  thick  walls 
and  narrow  entrances  have  the  strength  of  fortresses. 
They  were  indeed  originally  the  houses  of  the  aristoc- 
racy of  the  town,  who  were  noted  for  their  intrigues 
and  violence,  and  with  whom  a  house  capable  of  de- 
fence was  a  matter  of  some  importance.  As  the  city 
grew  and  the  social  conditions  of  the  country  became 
more  stable,  the  gentry  abandoned  Auld  Reekie  and 
built  houses  in  the  newer  sections  of  the  city,  while 
their  former  domiciles  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  most 
desperate  of  the  poor.  Yet  the  finer  and  more  modern 
portion  of  the  town  is  prosaic  and  commonplace,  while 
in  Auld  Reekie  you  cannot  but  feel  a  marvellous  attrac- 
tion in  the  ancient  gray  walls  and  crooked,  deep-worn 


ii6  The  Land  of  Heather 

stairways,  and  the  picturesque  outthrust  of  poles  from 
the  windows  with  a  few  rags  of  washing  fluttering  on 
them,  and  in  the  heaps  of  chimney-pots  with  their 
blue  curlings  of  smoke.  These  old  buildings  have  a 
sentiment  that  is  never  found  in  new  ones  —  a  some- 
thing akin  to  human  that  comes  from  their  long  con- 
nection with  life  and  its  daily  labor,  its  aspirations  and 
its  troubles.  What  stories  the  old  stones  could  tell 
if  they  had  speech  !  What  tragedies  and  dark  deeds 
they  must  have  witnessed ! 

In  the  summer  weather  when  I  wandered  among 
the  tall  houses,  most  of  the  windows  were  open,  and 
some  occupant  leaning  out  over  the  sill  was  rarely 
lacking.  The  doorways  likewise  had  their  loiterers, 
and  the  sidewalks  and  narrow  wynds  and  closes  were 
thickly  populated.  There  were  some  dreadful-looking 
creatures  to  be  seen  on  Auld  Reekie's  byways.  Once 
I  was  startled  in  turning  the  corner  of  an  alley  to  find 
two  women  fighting.  They  were  barefoot,  bareheaded, 
dishevelled,  and  hideous.  One  was  old  and  black-faced, 
and  had  some  sort  of  burden  gathered  up  in  her  apron. 
The  other,  who  was  younger,  but  hardly  less  ill-favored, 
was  brandishing  her  fists  in  her  companion's  face  and 
talking  hysterically  and  crying.  Finally  she  knocked 
the  old  woman  down.  But  that  ancient  got  up  nim- 
bly, and  the  two  indulged  in  further  loud-voiced  abuse. 
Then  they  separated,  and  the  gathering  crowd  dispersed. 


Historic  Ground  117 

The  High  Street  as  it  descends  the  hill  from  the 
castle  at  length  merges  into  the  Canongate,  and  the 
latter  thoroughfare  continues  the  gentle  downward 
course  for  about  a  mile  to  the  big,  dark-looking  pile 
of  Holyrood  Palace.  A  little  to  one  side  of  the  palace 
is  a  roofless  ruin,  all  that  is  left  of  an  abbey  built  in  the 
year  1128  by  King  David  I  and  named  in  honor  of 
the  holy  cross  or  rood  brought  to  Scotland  a  few  years 
previously  by  St.  Margaret.  Two  centuries  later  this 
"  black  rood  of  Scotland,"  as  it  was  called,  fell  into 
EngHsh  hands,  and  no  more  is  known  of  it.  Thrice 
the  abbey  was  burned  by  the  southern  foe,  and  a  fourth 
time  it  was  plundered  and  burned  by  the  mob  at  the 
revolution  of  1688.  For  seventy  years  after  that  it 
remained  neglected,  and  when  it  was  finally  repaired 
the  roof  proved  too  heavy,  and  fell  in.  The  abbey 
has  continued  a  ruin  ever  since  that  disaster. 

The  foundations  of  a  palace  apart  from  the  abbey 
were  laid  in  1503,  and  Holyrood  became  the  chief  seat 
of  the  Scottish  sovereigns.  It  is  as  the  residence  of 
the  ill-starred  Queen  Mary  that  it  most  stirs  the  in- 
terest of  the  average  visitor.  You  can  see  her  rooms, 
and  her  alleged  furniture,  including  the  bed  in  which 
she  slept,  a  curious  affair  with  immensely  tall  posts 
that  hold  a  canopy  aloft  high  toward  the  ceiling.  Its 
quilts  and  draperies  are  faded  now  and  dropping  to 
pieces,  and  it  is  a  question  whether  the  bed  in  its  better 


ii8  The  Land  of  Heather 

days  was  rich  and  beautiful  or  overcolored  and  tawdry. 
The  impression  the  rooms  made  on  me  was  that  the 
household  comforts  of  the  old  kings  and  queens  were 
not  such  as  to  stir  much  modern  envy. 

When  I  departed  from  Edinburgh,  it  was  to  go  to 
Stirling,  a  town  curiously  Hke  the  one  I  had  left,  in  its 
physical  characteristics,  for  it  is  overlooked  in  the  same 
way  by  a  great  castle  on  the  heights  of  a  mountainous 
crag.  The  situation,  by  reason  of  its  defensive  strength 
and  its  position  in  the  narrowest  part  of  the  northern 
kingdom,  makes  it  the  natural  key  to  the  Highlands, 
and  it  was  often  assaulted  in  the  quarrels  of  the  clans 
or  besieged  in  turn  by  Scotch  and  English. 

Across  the  valley  to  the  northeast  is  a  tall  monu- 
ment erected  to  the  greatest  of  Scotch  heroes,  William 
Wallace.  It  stands  on  a  rocky  cliff  and  is  visible  for 
miles  around,  and  it  commands  the  scene  of  Wallace's 
most  famous  encounter  with  the  English.  He  was 
posted  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Firth  of  Forth,  which 
here  has  the  breadth  of  a  moderate  river  and  was 
spanned  at  that  time  by  a  single  narrow  wooden  bridge. 
The  enemy,  fifty  thousand  strong,  lay  on  the  opposite 
side,  but  after  some  days'  delay  began  to  file  over. 
Until  half  the  English  had  crossed  the  bridge,  Wal- 
lace held  his  followers  in  check  and  gave  no  sign. 
Then  he  fell  on  the  invaders  with  such  determination 
that  they  were  thrown  into  confusion  and  a  headlong 


Historic  Ground 


119 


rout  ensued.  Thousands  were  slain,  and  many  more 
were  drowned  in  the  river,  and  Wallace  for  the  time 
being  had  "set  his  country  free,"  as  he  had  declared 
was  his  intention. 

Barely  three  miles  from  Stirling  is  a  still  more 
notable  battleground  —  the  field  of  Bannockburn.  I 
found  conveyance  thither  in  a  public  omnibus  which 
left  me  right  in  the  centre  of  the  ancient  scene  of  con- 
flict on  a  broad  hilltop.  From  here  Bruce  is  said  to 
have  directed  the  battle,  and  a  heavy  stone  embedded 
in  the  earth  Is  pointed  out  as  having  served  him  as  a 
seat  and  a  support  for  his  flagstaff.  The  stone  was 
flat  and  had  a  hole  in  the  middle,  and  looked  very  like 
a  common  grindstone ;  but  lest  any  one  should  be 
tempted  to  carry  it  off^  for  such  use  It  has  been  slatted 
over  with  iron  rods  —  or  was  this  to  preserve  it  from 
the  desecration  of  the  relic  hunters  ? 

I  followed  the  rustic  road  down  the  hill  and  stopped 
on  a  quaint  old  "  brig  "  arching  the  stream  that  gave 
the  battlefield  Its  name.  In  the  ravine  below  me 
was  the  Bannockburn,  a  pretty  brook  worrying  along 
through  the  boulders  that  filled  its  channel,  and  wan- 
dering away  in  a  crooked  course  through  the  peaceful 
farm  fields.  I  could  detect  no  sign  that  a  great  battle 
had  ever  been  fought  here,  so  slight  is  the  effect  on 
nature  of  man's  turmoils.  The  seasons  as  they  come 
and  go  erase  all  marks  of  ravage  and  devastation,  and 


I20  The  Land  of  Heather 

quickly  restore  the  tranquillity  that  has  been  momen- 
tarily interrupted. 

Bannockburn  was  the  climax  in  the  career  of  that 
most  notable  of  all  Scotch  monarchs,  Robert  Bruce. 
In  the  year  1290  we  find  him  one  of  thirteen  pretend- 
ers to  the  throne,  and  he  spent  fifteen  years  thereafter 
courting  the  favor  of  the  king  of  England.  At  the 
end  of  that  period  he  withdrew  to  Scotland.  Im- 
mediately afterward  he  attracted  general  attention  by 
stabbing  a  rival  claimant  at  Dumfries,  in  the  church 
of  the  Grey  Friars.  Then  he  hastened  to  Scone  and 
assumed  the  crown.  Scotland  was  at  once  roused  to 
arms,  and  war  with  England  began.  For  a  time  the 
Scotch  only  met  disaster,  and  Bruce  had  to  fly  to  the 
Highlands.  He  found  the  chiefs  there  bitterly  hostile 
to  his  cause,  and  during  several  years  his  experiences 
were  those  of  a  desperate  adventurer.  But  adversity 
made  him  a  noble  leader  of  a  nation's  cause.  He  was 
hardy  and  strong,  of  commanding  presence,  brave,  and 
genial  in  temper.  The  legends  tell  how  he  was  tracked 
by  bloodhounds  into  the  remote  glens,  how  he  on  one 
occasion  held  a  pass  single-handed  against  a  crowd  of 
savage  clansmen,  how  sometimes  he  and  his  little  band 
of  fugitives  had  nought  to  eat  save  what  they  could 
get  by  hunting  and  fishing,  and  how  Bruce  himself 
had  more  than  once  to  fling  off  his  shirt  of  mail  and 
scramble  up  the  crags  to  escape  his  pursuers. 


Historic  Ground  121 

Little  by  little,  however,  his  affairs  grew  brighter, 
until  at  length  the  Black  Douglas  espoused  his  cause. 
From  that  time  Bruce  rapidly  won  adherents  and  terri- 
tory, and  by  13 13  he  had  retaken  nearly  all  the  king- 
dom, and  even  invaded  the  northern  counties  of 
England,  levying  money  and  gathering  such  plunder 
as  he  could  carry  away.  Only  Stirling  castle  remained 
to  the  English,  and  the  governor  of  that  stronghold 
was  so  sorely  pressed  he  agreed,  unless  meanwhile 
relieved,  to  surrender  on  June  24  of  the  following 
year.  The  English,  to  avoid  this  catastrophe  and  to 
prevent  Scotland  from  slipping  whollv  out  of  their 
hands,  collected  an  enormous  army.  It  numbered  not 
far  from  one  hundred  thousand  fighting  men,  though 
a  large  proportion  consisted  of  wild  marauders  from 
Ireland  and  Wales  whose  efficiency  was  not  all  it 
might   be. 

Bruce  by  his  utmost  efforts  could  only  muster  thirty 
thousand,  yet  he  prepared  to  confront  the  enemy  a 
little  to  the  south  of  Stirling.  The  position  he  selected 
was  on  the  banks  of  the  Bannockburn,  where  he  was 
protected  in  part  by  the  stream,  and  in  part  by  numer- 
ous pits  and  trenches  he  directed  his  soldiers  to  dig. 
June  23d  the  English  appeared  and  attempted  unsuc- 
cessfully to  force  an  entrance  into  the  castle  of  Stirling 
with  a  body  of  cavalry.  This  failure  was  depressing, 
and  they  were  still  further  disheartened  by  an  incident 


122  The  Land  of  Heather 

of  the  evening.  An  Enghsh  knight,  Henry  de  Bohun, 
observing  Bruce  riding  along  in  front  of  his  army,  had 
made  a  sudden  dash  on  him,  intending  to  thrust  him 
through  with  his  spear.  The  king  was  mounted  on 
a  small  hackney  and  held  in  his  hand  only  a  light 
battle-axe,  but  he  parried  his  opponent's  spear  and 
cleft  his  skull  with  so  powerful  a  blow  that  the  handle 
of  the  axe  was  shattered  in  his  grasp. 

On  the  day  following,  the  English  advanced  and 
assailed  the  whole  line  of  the  Scotch  army,  wrestling 
with  it  in  a  hand-to-hand  combat.  But  the  northern 
spearmen  withstood  the  southern  lancers  and  archers, 
and  the  desperate  charges,  many  times  repeated,  only 
resulted  in  adding  fresh  heaps  to  the  slain  laid  low  by 
the  valorous  Scotch.  The  air  was  full  of  flying  arrows 
and  was  hideous  with  the  noise  of  clashing  armor, 
the  commingling  of  war-cries,  and  the  groans  of  the 
wounded.  Blood  everywhere  stained  the  ground, 
which  was  strewn  with  shreds  of  armor,  broken  spears, 
arrows,  and  pennons  torn  and  soiled.  The  burn  itself 
was  so  choked  with  fallen  men  and  horses  that  it  could 
be  crossed  dry-shod. 

As  the  day  progressed,  the  attack  weakened,  and 
the  Scotch  began  to  push  forward ;  and  finally  the 
unexpected  appearance  of  a  body  of  the  northern 
camp-followers  whom  the  EngUsh  mistook  for  reen- 
forcements    to    their    opponents    made    the    invading 


Historic  Ground  123 

host  give  way  along  the  whole  front.  Bruce  perceived 
this,  and  led  his  troops  with  redoubled  fury  against  the 
failing  ranks  of  the  enemy.  This  onset  turned  the 
English  defeat  into  a  disorderly  rout.  All  encum- 
brances were  thrown  away,  and  they  made  their  way  as 
best  they  could  back  to  England,  and  if  the  Scotch 
had  had  sufficient  cavalry,  scarcely  any  would  have 
escaped.  Even  as  it  was,  nearly  one-third  of  the 
original  army  was  left  dead  on  the  field,  including  two 
hundred  knights  and  seven  hundred  squires.  The 
loss  of  the  Scotch  was  four  thousand.  By  this  victory 
at  Bannockburn  Bruce  was  firmly  estabHshed  on  his 
throne  and  the  independence  of  the  kingdom  was 
won,  although  desultory  fighting  continued  for  years. 


'  •       •••»-'•',     v_-...-.-  ,..  i>,,«^v;i.^''i"i'^''  ^^ivV.'>>«s<;.'^'>Ti^^-'^i-'.^:v^ 

n^^,^.«.*^-^ 

Queen  Mary's  Prison  on  an  Isle  of  Lochleven 


VI 

THRUMS 


IN  nearly  all 
the  novels 
with  which 
Mr.J.M.Barrie 
has  charmed  the 
readers  of  two 
hemispheres, 
Thrums  is  the 
home  of  the 
characters  intro- 
duced, and  is  the 
scene  of  most 
of  the  comedies 
and  tragedies 
the  author  de- 
^  ^^  ^^*  lights  to  depict. 

As  the  background  of  the  entertaining  mingling  of 
life's  lights  and  shadows  which  is  characteristic  of  his 
stories,  it  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  find  that  Thrums 
is  a  real  place  and  that  it  accords  in  many  ways  with 

124 


Thrums  125 

Mr.  Barrie's  descriptions.  Its  name  on  the  maps  is 
Kirriemuir,  though  the  inhabitants  commonly  shorten 
this  to  simply  Kirrie ;  and  you  will  find  it  about  sixty 
miles  north  of  Edinburgh,  at  the  end  of  a  little  branch 
railroad  that  leaves  the  main  line  at  Forfar  and  climbs 
half  a  dozen  twisty  miles  toward  the  hills. 

The  industry  that  makes  and  supports  the  town  is 
weaving,  and  in  the  hollow,  where  a  little  stream  winds 
through  the  village,  are  two  great  stone  mills  that 
look  very  substantial  and  prosperous.  They  do  work 
which  fifty  years  ago  was  done  wholly  in  the  homes. 
Then,  one  would  have  heard  the  rattle  of  the  hand- 
loom  from  every  cottage,  but  now  the  mills  furnish 
employment  for  most  of  the  town  inhabitants,  and, 
though  there  is  loss  of  picturesqueness,  the  people  are 
undoubtedly  better  off.  A  few  still  cling  to  the  ways 
of  their  forefathers,  and  from  an  occasional  house  the 
old-time  clack  of  weaving  even  yet  comes  to  the  ears 
of  the  passer.  However,  competition  with  machinery 
is  a  losing  struggle,  and  the  hand-workers  grow  fewer 
every  year. 

As  a  rule  the  people  appeared  neater  and  thriftier 
than  those  of  the  average  Scotch  town.  There  were 
none  of  the  barefoot  women  and  few  of  the  barefoot 
children  that  one  finds  plentiful  in  most  villages. 
Making  a  living  is  not  as  oppressive  a  grind  in  Kirrie 
as  it  might  be.     If  a  street  musician  strays  into  the 


126  The  Land  of  Heather 

place,  he  is  sure  to  carry  away  a  liberal  weight  of  small 
coins,  and  when  a  circus  takes  possession  of  the  little 
square,  it  is  always  well  patronized. 

This  small  paved  square,  bounded  about  by  the 
various  shops  of  the  tradespeople,  with  the  tiny  town 
hall  on  one  side,  is  the  village  centre.  From  it  the 
houses  streak  away  in  the  most  chancing  fashion  up 
the  valleys  and  along  the  hillsides.  No  doubt  this 
haphazard  character  is  due  to  the  uncertain  and  hum- 
mocky  lay  of  the  land.  Wherever  you  walk  you  are 
either  going  up  or  down  a  hill,  and  the  hill  is  likely  to 
be  steep  at  that.  The  streets  are  crooked  and  have 
unexpected  turns  in  them,  and  there  are  frequent  little 
lanes  that  have  an  odd  way  of  jerking  around  corners 
and  dodging  under  houses. 

The  dwellings  are  nearly  all  of  red  sandstone  from 
a  quarry  high  on  the  hillside.  In  most  cases  the 
houses  are  weather-darkened  and  battered,  though 
some  of  the  older  cottages  have  walls  coated  with  plas- 
ter, and  certain  others  get  periodical  brightenings  of 
whitewash.  To  the  last  class  belongs  the  house  that 
of  all  others  in  Thrums  is  the  centre  of  the  Barrie  in- 
terest. You  go  down  a  steep  hill  from  the  town  square, 
cross  the  stone  brig  that  spans  the  burn,  and  at  once 
begin  the  ascent  of  the  famous  brae  (the  Scotch  word 
for  a  steep  roadway  or  hillside).  When  you  get  to  the 
elbow  of  the  brae,  there  is  Hendry^s  cot  before  you  at 


i 


,ii'  _..«^:-' 


Thrums 


127 


the  top  of  the  hill.  It  is  a  one-story  house  with  a 
narrow  garden  in  front,  and  in  its  gable  is  a  tiny  win- 
dow that  you  feel  sure  is  Jess's  window  as  soon  as  you 
see  it.  This  window  looks  easterly  down  the  brae  and 
over  the  town  ;  and  it  is  remarkable  when  one  goes 
about  the  village  and  the  surrounding  hill-slopes  how 
often  the  cot  at  the  top  of  the  brae  is  in  sight,  and  how 
the  little  window  seems  watching  you  as  if  the  house 
had  an  eye.  In  Mr.  Barrie's  description  the  cottage 
roof  is  of  thatch,  with  ropes  flung  over  it  to  keep  it  on 
in  wind.  But  now  the  roof  is  rudely  slated.  Thatch 
is  out  of  date  in  Kirriemuir.  Yet  there  was  one  rusty 
Hne  of  cottages  on  a  neighboring  hill  that  still  retained 
its  ancient  coat  of  straw,  and  the  straw  was  secured  from 
the  clutches  of  the  gales  by  strips  of  board  fastened 
on  it. 

Hendry's  cot  had  tenants,  and  they  were  plainly  of 
a  thrifty  turn  of  mind,  for  a  black  sign  hung  on  the 
house  walls  that  labelled  the  place  "  A  Window  in 
Thrums,"  and  announced  that  souvenirs  and  lemonade 
were  for  sale.  If  you  choose  to  go  up  the  short  walk 
through  the  garden  and  rap  at  the  door,  the  dwellers 
within  will  readily  show  you  the  house  interior.  There 
is  not  much  to  see  — just  two  small  rooms  with  a  bit 
of  a  passage  between.  To  the  right  is  the  kitchen, 
with  its  fireplace,  bed,  table,  and  a  few  other  primitive 
furnishings.     To  the  left  is  "  the  room,"  in  which  is  a 


128  The   Land  of  Heather 

second  bed,  several  haircloth  chairs,  and  a  spreaded 
table  with  an  elaborate  lamp  on  it,  and  a  few  books 
laid  around  the  edges  in  regular  order. 

Upstairs  is  an  unfinished  attic  that  you  climb  to  by 
a  step-ladder  through  a  trap-door,  exactly  as  in  the 
days  when  the  schoolmaster  boarded  in  the  house. 
There  is  very  little  save  dust  and  rubbish  in  the  attic 
now,  but  it  is  lighted  by  the  little  window  that  gives 
the  name  to  Mr.  Barrie's  book,  though,  for  the  sake 
of  realism,  this  window  should  be  in  the  kitchen  below. 

The  working  class  in  Thrums  had  but  a  poor  opin- 
ion of  the  novelist's  books.  Nothing  happens  in  "A 
Window  in  Thrums,"  they  informed  me  deprecatingly, 
but  what  they  saw  every  day.  The  talk  was  the  talk 
they  heard  next  door  —  mere  "bairn's  havers,"  they 
said,  "juist  Kirrie  balderdash."  They  thought  it  was 
unquestionably  great  rubbish,  and  accounted  for  its 
popularity  by  the  theory  that  chance  had  made  it  a 
fad ;  after  this  factitious  interest  had  faded  they  had 
no  doubt  other  folks  would  be  as  sick  of  the  stuff  as 
they  were. 

Nor  were  they  suited  with  the  author  himself.  He 
is  not  large  enough,  is  too  retiring,  goes  about  with  his 
hands  behind  him,  looking  straight  ahead  as  if  he 
lived  in  some  dream  world  of  his  own — and  how 
could  you  expect  a  man  of  that  size  and  manner  to 
write  anything  worth  while  ? 


Thrums  129 

Among  those  who  thus  criticised  Mr.  Barrie  was  a 
woman  who  told  me  a  long  story  of  how  she  and  her 
parents  and  children  and  grandchildren  had  all  lived 
in  the  little  Window  in  Thrums  house.  They  had 
only  recently  moved  out  of  it,  and  she  supposed  they 
were  the  real  heroes  and  heroines  of  Barrie's  tale. 
Like  enough  she,  herself,  was  meant  for  Jess  —  if  she 
wasn't,  she  didn't  know  who  was.  Then  she  said  she 
would  tell  me  the  true  origin  of  the  title  of  the  book. 
One  stormy  night  some  young  fellows  set  out  to  rob 
a  neighboring  orchard  and  they  wanted  her  son  to  go 
out  with  them.  They  knew  he  slept  in  the  attic, 
and  so  they  took  some  apples  and  came  into  the 
garden  and  threw  them  up  at  the  little  window  to 
arouse  him.  Her  son  was  away,  as  it  happened,  and 
pretty  soon  she  and  her  sister,  sleeping  below,  heard 
the  apples  come  rolling  down  through  the  trap-door 
from  the  vacant  apartment  overhead.  They  were 
scared,  and  they  awakened  their  father,  who  found  the 
little  window  broken,  and  the  rain  pouring  in.  He 
called  down  to  them  how  it  was  —  and  what  should  he 
do?  In  a  corner  of  the  loomshop  at  the  far  end  of 
the  house  were  a  lot  of  "thrums"  —  waste  ends  of 
the  warp  which  have  to  be  cut  off  every  time  the  weav- 
ing of  a  roll  of  cloth  is  finished.  It  was  these  thrums 
they  used  to  stop  the  window  and  keep  the  rain  out. 
That    made   "The   Window    in    Thrums,"    or,   more 

K 


130  The  Land  of  Heather 

properly,  "  the  thrums  in  the  window."  I  fancy  this 
origin  of  the  title  would  be  news  to  Mr.  Barrie  himself 

The  first  nine  years  of  his  life  the  novelist  lived  in 
"  the  tenements,"  a  block  of  old,  plastered  houses 
which  are  the  homes  of  the  humblest  of  the  weavers. 
It  was  there  he  picked  up  his  close  knowledge  of  the 
language  and  ways  of  the  poor,  and  his  keen  feelinp; 
for  all  their  traits,  from  petty  pride  up  to  unconsciour 
heroism.  In  later  years  his  abode  was  in  a  substantial 
stone  house  just  across  the  road  from  Hendry's  cot  at 
the  top  of  the  brae.  Curiously  enough,  Mr.  Barrie 
has  never  been  inside  the  cottage  he  has  made  famous. 
But  his  readers  and  admirers  go  through  it  with  suffi- 
cient care  to  make  up  for  his  delinquency,  and  they 
spare  no  effort  to  make  the  little  house  fit  his  descrip- 
tions in  every  detail. 

It  is  a  little  remarkable  how  many  places  can  be 
identified  in  the  Kirriemuir  region  as  the  veritable 
ones  described  in  the  book.  First,  of  course,  is  the 
cot  and  the  little  window,  and  the  brae  with  its  carts 
and  its  people  always  going  up  and  down.  Then, 
near  by,  is  the  steep  hillside  of  the  commonty  bounded 
about  with  hedgerows,  and  crisscrossed  with  uncared- 
for  dirt  paths.  Here  the  children  play,  and  here  the 
women  still  come  at  times  to  dry  their  washing. 
T'nowhead  farm  and  its  pigpen  are  not  far  away,  and 
at  the  other  side  of  the  town  is  the  auld  licht  manse 


Thrums  131 

that  was  the  home  of  "  The  Little  Minister."  The 
burying-ground  road  still  climbs  to  the  hillside  ceme- 
tery with  all  its  old-time  straightness,  and  on  the  village 
borders  is  "  The  Den,"  of  which  so  much  is  made 
in  "  Sentimental  Tommy."  This  den,  or,  to  use  the 
English  equivalent  for  the  word  —  this  ravine,  is  a 
bit  of  meadow  hemmed  about  with  steep,  grassy  ridges 
and  rocky  precipices.  The  villagers  gather  in  the  den 
every  pleasant  summer  evening  and  lounge  on  the 
grass,  or  loiter  along  the  walks,  or  play  games  and 
join  in  a  Highland  dance  to  the  music  of  the  village 
band. 

One  of  the  people  whom  I  met  in  Kirriemuir  was 
the  dulseman.  He  was  the  same  whom  Hendry 
used  to  patronize,  and  I  saw  him  every  evening 
with  his  barrow  on  the  square.  He  was  a  very  stolid, 
slow  sort  of  person,  whom  nothing  short  of  an  earth- 
quake could  have  moved  to  the  least  excitement.  On 
his  barrow  he  carried  a  long  box  that  held  a  bushel  or 
two  of  the  seaweed,  and  a  shorter  box  that  contained 
a  couple  of  kettles  full  of  buckies  (sea-snails)  which  he 
had  boiled  with  a  flavoring  of  salt  that  day.  The 
evening  loiterers  bought  and  ate  these  things  much 
the  same  as  our  loiterers  buy  and  eat  peanuts. 

When  a  Kirrie  man  approached  the  dulse-barrow, 
he  turned  sidewise  to  it  and  said,  "  Penny's  worth  o* 
buckies,"  and  the  dulseman  scooped  up  a  tin  cup  full 


132  The   Land  of  Heather 

and  emptied  them  into  his  customer's  coat  pocket. 
Then  the  man  helped  himself  to  a  pin  out  of  a  rusty 
tray  in  the  bucky  box,  or  pulled  one  out  of  the  bottom 
of  his  vest,  and  went  over  to  the  curbing,  where  he 
talked  with  his  friends,  and  at  the  same  time  extracted 
the  morsels  from  their  shells.  '  The  shells  were 
dropped  on  the  paving  of  the  square,  and  it  was 
astonishing  what  a  strewing  of  them  there  was  by  the 
end  of  the  evening. 

If  a  man  bought  dulse,  the  vendor  picked  up  his 
fingers  full  twice  for  a  bawbee  (halfpenny)  and  stuffed 
it  in  the  man's  pocket  for  him  to  nibble  at  leisure. 
When  a  woman  bought,  she  received  her  seaweed  in 
her  apron,  while  the  children  usually  carried  theirs  off 
in  their  hats.  I  was  told  that  buckles  were  not  good 
for  one's  stomach  —  they  only  pleased  the  palate,  but 
that  the  dulse  was  medicinal,  and  helped  digestion.  I 
tried  a  bit  of  the  seaweed  one  evening,  and,  except  that 
it  was  leathery,  and  that  its  pecuhar  salt-water  taste  stayed 
in  my  mouth  for  an  hour  afterward,  it  was  not  bad.  I 
did  not  get  up  sufficient  courage  to  try  the  buckles. 
When  twisted  out  of  their  shells,  they  looked  too  Hke 
dark  earthworms  to  be  appetizing. 

The  most  old-fashioned  of  all  the  Thrums  dwell- 
ings were  those  that  made  the  line  of  cottages  under 
the  thatched  roof  In  the  far  end  of  this  line  of  cot- 
tages lived  Jimmie  Donaldson  and  his  granddaughter. 


SpIxNning  a   **  Peerie 


Thrums  133 

Jimmie  was  a  telegraph  boy,  and,  in  spite  of  his  ninety 
years,  was  always  ready  to  run  with  messages  night  or 
day.  He  thought  nothing  of  a  six  or  eight  mile  tramp. 
He  was  a  kindly,  talkative  sUp  of  an  old  man,  very 
poor,  yet  too  independent  to  take  a  tip  for  small  ser- 
vices. His  work  brought  him  only  intermittent  wages, 
and  this  fact  often  made  him  so  downhearted  that  he 
found  it  necessary  to  cheer  himself  up  by  spending 
what  he  earned  for  occasional  drops  of  liquor.  The 
granddaughter  worked  in  the  mill,  and  it  was  she  who 
was  the  mainstay  of  the  household. 

Jimmie  had  three  rooms,  but  as  one  was  a  rude 
scullery  that  looked  like  a  cellar,  and  another  a  loft 
used  only  for  storage,  the  little  kitchen  was  practically 
the  home  and  all  of  it.  This  kitchen  had  a  tiny  fire- 
place, two  small  tables,  a  tall  clock,  a  few  chairs  that 
only  the  greatest  care  would  coax  to  stand  level  on  the 
uneven  dirt  floor,  and  some  other  odds  and  ends. 
Two  box  beds  filled  one  side  of  the  room.  A  great 
many  of  the  Kirrie  kitchens  had  box  beds  in  them. 
This  type  of  bed,  as  its  name  signifies,  is  literally  in  a 
box,  but  the  box  is  of  enormous  size  and  extends  from 
floor  to  ceiling,  and  the  lid  instead  of  being  on  the  top 
is  on  the  side  fronting  the  room,  and  takes  the  form 
of  double  doors  that  fold  back  to  give  convenient 
entrance.  The  idea  is  that  you  can  step  in,  pull  the 
doors  to,  and  prepare  for  bed  without  its  making  any 


134  The  Land  of  Heather 

difference  whether  the  room  is  occupied  or  not.  After 
you  are  under  the  clothes  you  push  the  door  open 
and  get  some  air  to  breathe. 

Old-fashioned  people  believe  that  the  box  bed  has 
special  advantages  in  time  of  sickness  ;  for  if  the  patient 
wishes  quiet  and  darkness,  it  is  only  necessary  to  close 
the  doors  and  the  invalid  is  shut  away  from  the  outer 
world  completely,  with  no  trouble  at  all. 

In  the  kitchen  that  I  have  described  the  telegraph 
boy,  Jimmie,  and  his  granddaughter  cooked,  ate, 
washed,  made  their  toilets  —  did  everything.  But 
Jimmie  was  satisfied.  He  said  a  doctor  had  told  him 
that  people  who  slept  in  a  box  bed  and  had  a  thatch 
roof  overhead  and  a  dirt  floor  underfoot  lived  the 
longest.  He  was  much  interested  in  the  "  States," 
and  said  he  had  two  daughters  over  there,  one  in 
Meriden,  Con.,  and  the  other  in  Mish.  I  don't  know 
what  he  thought  Con.  and  Mish.  were,  but  I  recog- 
nized Connecticut  and  Michigan. 

My  final  sight  of  Jimmie  was  on  the  last  evening 
of  my  stay  in  Kirriemuir.  I  was  in  the  stationer's 
shop  on  the  square  when  the  old  man  came  in  and 
held  out  a  grimy  hand  for  me  to  shake.  His  face  was 
red,  for  he  had  been  having  a  dram  or  two,  and  he 
was  inclined  to  take  a  dismal  view  of  life.  He'd  only 
had  "  one  telegram  the  week,  only  a  saxpence,  and  a 
man  could  no  live  on  that." 


Thrums 


^3S 


The  stationer  offered  him  his  snufF-box,  and  Jimmie 
took  a  pinch,  but  it  did  not  revive  his  spirits,  and  his 
farewell  to  me  was  full  of  dubious  foreboding. 

"  I  shall  never  see  you  again,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  perhaps  you  may,"  I  responded,  with  an 
attempt  at  cheerfulness. 

"  Will  you  come  next  year?  "  he  inquired.  "  But  I 
won't  be  here  if  you  do,"  he  added.  "  I'll  be  in  hell 
then." 

He  shook  hands  once  more,  said  "  Good-by,"  and 
went  out  on  the  street. 


The  Window  in  Thrums  House 


VII 


A     HIGHLAND     GLEN 


ITS  name  was  Glen 
Clova,  a  title  suggest- 
ive of  rural  sweetness 
and  overflowing  fertility. 
The  reality  was  a  wide  fis- 
sure opening  back  into  the 
great  bounding  heather 
hills,  and  its  name  was 
almost  its  only  touch  of 
gentleness.  Yet  there  was 
charm  in  the  little  river 
Esk  which  wound  through 
the  meadow  bottoms,  and 
the  vastness  of  the  encom- 
passing hills  was  impres- 
sive, while  even  the  lonely  bareness  of  the  region  was 
of  its  kind  beautiful. 

The  glen's  remoteness  was  attested  to  my  senses  in 
many  ways  —  by  the  peatstacks  I  found  in  the  farm- 
yards, by  the  presence  of  the  wild  deer  on  the  high 

136 


1 

w 

1 .^m 

W'      1 

Returning  from  Market 


A  Highland  Glen  137 

moors,  by  the  snow-banks  which  glistened  white  in  the 
ravines  of  the  craggy  mountains  until  midsummer,  and 
by  the  peewits  and  the  water-birds  which  screamed 
at  me  when  I  walked  about  the  fields,  as  if  wholly 
unused  to  the  sight  of  a  stranger.  The  district  was 
very  destitute  of  trees,  though  frequent  newly  started 
"plantings"  covered  great  patches  of  the  upland. 
Small  woods  were  numerous  outside  the  valley,  south- 
ward; but  at  the  time  of  my  visit  a  good  share  of  the 
trees  in  these  woods  had  been  blown  over  by  a  terrible 
gale  of  the  year  before.  The  power  of  the  storm  had 
been  such  that  it  made  even  the  heaviest  stone  dwell- 
ings tremble,  frightening  the  people,  tearing  slates  from 
roofs,  shattering  byres,  and  turning  over  the  cornstacks 
in  the  stackyards.  The  morning  after  the  gale  some 
of  the  woods  on  the  exposed  ridges  had  not  a  tree  left 
standing.  Even  now,  a  twelv^emonth  later,  much  of 
the  woodland  wreckage  had  not  yet  been  cleared  away, 
and  it  was  a  melancholy  sight  —  these  tangles  of  dead 
branches  and  shattered  trunks,  and  the  earth  all  turned 
up  edgewise  with  the  canting  of  the  roots. 

I  found  lodging  while  I  stayed  in  the  glen  at  a 
farmhouse  under  a  rough  spur  of  one  of  the  great  hills 
known  as  Craig  Eggie.  The  best  room  in  the  house 
was  mine  as  long  as  my  sojourn  lasted.  The  room 
was  one  the  family  was  inclined  to  boast  of,  and  Mrs. 
Fearn,  the  farmer's  wife,  wanted  to  know  if  we   had 


138  The  Land  of  Heather 

any  better  than  that  in  America.  It  was  an  eminently- 
respectable  room,  with  a  carpet,  wall-paper,  pictures,  etc. 
—  indeed,  was  much  like  a  New  England  sitting  room, 
except  for  the  presence  of  a  bed  and  a  small  fireplace. 
At  the  foot  of  the  bed  stood  a  tall  clock.  This  clock 
was  just  half  an  hour  behind  time,  and  was  also  original 
in  having  a  habit  five  minutes  before  it  struck  the 
hours  of  giving  forth  a  peculiar  sound  as  if  something 
heavy  had  broken  in  the  works  and  fallen  down  inside 
the  case.  When  heard  in  the  night  the  sound  was 
quite  startling. 

The  evening  of  my  first  day  in  the  glen  was  so 
chilly  that  after  I  had  eaten  supper  in  the  best  room 
I  was  glad  to  sit  by  the  kitchen  fireplace  and  watch 
the  brisk  flames  crackling  up  from  a  heap  of  peat 
bricks  while  the  wind  hummed  and  rumbled  in  the 
chimney.  The  black  teakettle  suspended  from  the 
sway  was  adjusted  low  over  the  fire,  and  the  water 
within  boiled  with  such  vigor  that  the  cover  rattled. 

On  a  rude  bench  behind  an  equally  rude  table  at 
the  far  end  of  the  room  sat  the  hired  man  sucking  in 
hot  tea  from  his  saucer.  Under  the  table  lay  a  black 
and  white  collie.  Several  hams  and  sides  of  bacon 
tied  up  in  white  bags  were  hung  from  hooks  driven 
into  the  blotchy  yellow  ceiling.  The  women  felt  that 
this  stained  ceiling  was  something  of  a  reproach ;  but 
they  said    it  was  of  no  use  to  whitewash  it,  for  the 


A   Highland  Glen  139 

peats  were  smoky  things,  particularly  in  dull,  damp 
weather,  and  the  ceiling  would  keep  grimy  and  un- 
sightly, no  matter  what  they  did.  The  walls  were 
more  easily  managed,  and  they  were  tidy  with  a 
pink  whitewash  renewed  twice  a  year.  The  daughter 
of  the  house,  a  bright,  energetic  body  named  Mary 
Ann,  did  the  whitewashing,  and  it  was  she  who  gave 
the  long  hearthstone  before  the  fire  periodical  coats  of 
bright  blue  paint,  and  made  the  stone  framework  of 
the  fireplace  and  the  wooden  mantel  above  shine  with 
appHcations  of  black  varnish.  The  corner-stones  at 
the  base,  supporting  the  bars  of  the  grate,  she  pol- 
ished dally  with  black  lead,  while  the  inner  sides  of 
the  fireplace,  above  the  grate,  she  whitewashed  every 
week,  leaving  just  a  narrow  black  path  in  the  middle 
where  the  smoke  coursed  upward. 

Spring  water,  conducted  through  a  pipe  from  its 
hillside  source,  came  directly  into  the  room,  but  "  the 
big  half"  of  the  Glen  Clova  families  had  to  go  out  to 
a  running  well  (brook)  for  their  water,  and  often  were 
obliged  to  carry  it  quite  a  distance. 

While  I  sat  talking  with  the  family,  the  fire  had 
been  allowed  to  burn  low,  and  now  the  stout  mistress 
of  the  house  went  out  to  the  peatstack  in  the  yard  and 
brought  in  a  fresh  supply  of  the  brown  blocks  in  her 
apron.  She  put  some  of  the  peat  on  the  fire  and 
dumped   the    rest   down    on    the   hearth.     Then   she 


140  The  Land  of  Heather 

broke  up  some  dry  brush,  tucked  it  into  the  grate,  and 
sat  down  to  encourage  the  slumbering  flames  with  a 
pair  of  bellows.  Immediately  the  fire  brightened,  and 
the  air  grew  odorous  with  wisps  of  smoke  that  stole 
out  into  the  room. 

Mrs.  Fearn  said  the  supply  of  bannocks  was  running 
short,  and  she  must  make  more.  Bannocks  are  flat, 
brittle  cakes  of  oatmeal,  as  large  around  as  a  plate.  In 
thickness  and  color  they  suggest  sections  of  coarse  sole 
leather,  and  no  one  unacquainted  with  them  would 
suspect  that  they  were  good  to  eat.  Their  preparation 
consists  in  stirring  up  oatmeal  with  water  into  a  thick 
dough,  rolling  lumps  of  it  out  into  shape  and  then 
"  firing  "  the  rough  disks  one  at  a  time  in  the  fireplace. 
I  do  not  mean,  as  the  American  vernacular  would  sug- 
gest, that  the  cakes  were  consigned  forcibly  to  the 
flames.  The  term  "  firing,"  as  applied  to  a  bannock 
in  Scotland,  means  first  browning  the  under  side  on  a 
griddle,  and  then  setting  it  up  edgewise  on  a  toaster 
hung  before  the  blaze,  and  letting  the  other  side  brown. 
When  spread  with  butter  and  accompanied  by  a  bit  of 
cheese  and  a  glass  of  milk  or  a  cup  of  tea,  the  ban- 
nocks are  so  good  that  even  an  epicure  would  not  dis- 
dain them.  I  think  the  Scotch  feel  a  real  pity  for  a 
person  who  does  not  eat  them  regularly,  and  love  them. 

During  my  stay  in  the  glen  I  had  bannocks  at  every 
meal,  and,  besides  the  accessories  that  naturally  go  with 


A  Highland  Glen  141 

the  cakes,  I  was  given  heather  honey  for  a  relish.  The 
honey  was  in  the  honeycomb,  and  it  was  wonderfully 
rich,  and  tasted  full  of  sunshine  and  blossoms.  The 
bees  gather  the  finest  harvest  of  the  year  in  the  time  of 
the  heather-bloom.  The  clover  honey  that  they  make 
earlier  is  not  nearly  so  deep  in  tint  nor  so  densely 
sweet.  Nor  does  it  bring  as  much,  when  sold,  into 
"  tuppence  "  a  pound. 

The  day's  work  in  the  glen  began  at  five  o'clock. 
Mrs.  Fearn  and  her  daughter  were  always  stirring  by 
that  time.  The  mother  went  at  once  to  the  byre  to 
start  milking  the  eight  cows,  but  Mary  Ann  stayed  in- 
doors to  kindle  the  kitchen  fire,  and  hang  over  it  a 
great  black  pot  full  of  oatmeal.  Then  she  skimmed 
the  milk  in  the  dairy,  and  when  the  porridge  was 
cooked  and  the  tea  boiled  for  the  men's  breakfast,  she 
went  out  to  help  her  mother  finish  milking. 

The  cattle  of  the  region  were  of  a  hornless  variety, 
usually  black,  but  sometimes  gray  or  patched  with 
white.  The  cows  received  very  good  care,  and  they, 
of  all  the  farm  animals,  were  the  only  ones  that  were 
invariably  kept  in  the  byres  over  night  right  through 
the  year.  It  was  thought  to  be  too  "  cauld  "  for  them 
in  the  fields,  though  during  the  warmer  months  the 
calves  and  horses  were  allowed  to  stay  out  continuously, 
and  the  sheep  were  not  housed,  even  in  winter.  The 
sheep  pastures  were  in  the  main  bare   grassland,  or 


142  The  Land  of  Heather 

heather  hillsides  ;  but  it  was  arranged  that  there  should 
be  a  patch  of  woodland  somewhere  in  the  pasturage  to 
which  they  could  retire  for  shelter  from  the  storms. 
If  the  winter  was  mild,  the  sheep  might  be  able  to  pick 
up  their  own  living,  yet  ordinarily  they  required  some 
feeding. 

Raising  calves  was  an  important  industry  in  the 
glen,  and  Farmer  Fearn  had  quite  a  herd  of  them. 
Mary  Ann  fed  them  three  times  a  day,  the  last  time 
about  nine  or  ten  in  the  evening.  She  usually  went 
out  bareheaded,  with  a  red  shawl  wound  about  her 
shoulders.  While  milking  or  doing  dirty  kitchen 
work,  the  women  added  greatly  to  their  picturesque- 
ness  by  tucking  their  outer  skirts  up  so  that  the  folds 
only  came  halfway  down. 

When  they  found  I  was  interested  in  Scotch  ways, 
they  were  at  great  pains  to  give  me  information,  and 
they  brought  out  for  exhibition  their  photograph 
albums,  and  their  hats  and  bonnets,  and  Mr.  Fearn*s 
best  suit,  and  the  cheese  tub,  and  much  else.  I  re- 
lated something  of  our  American  customs,  and  they 
were  of  the  opinion  that  if  the  women  here  did  no  out- 
door work,  and  never  milked,  and  never  blacked  the 
men's  boots,  they  must  sit  by  the  fire  and  "rockit"  a 
large  part  of  the  time.  Mary  Ann  wanted  I  should 
tell  the  American  girls  that  they  did  not  do  half 
enough. 


A  Highland  Glen  143 

Mr.  Fearn  paid  a  rent  on  his  farm,  to  the  Laird  who 
owned  all  the  hills  and  glens  for  miles  around,  of  ^150 
a  year.  The  farm  consisted  of  eighty  acres  and  a 
"butt."  The  eighty  acres  were  rolling  valley  land. 
The  butt  was  thin,  heathery  pasturage,  "  mostly 
steens  "  (stones),  the  farmer  affirmed,  that  swept  up  a 
steep  hillside  and  far  on  across  a  peat  bog. 

"  It  is  no  easy  getting  a  living  here,"  Mr.  Fearn 
explained,  and  he  added  that  his  hired  help  worked 
shorter  hours  and  had  more  to  show  for  their  labor  at 
the  end  of  the  year  than  he  had.  In  cold  seasons  he 
could  not  ripen  his  corn  (oats)  enough  so  that  the 
grain  could  be  used  for  seed,  and  there  were  times 
when  the  little  river  Esk  overflowed  and  stood  like  a 
loch  in  the  meadows  and  "  drowned  "  all  the  corn  on 
the  lowland.  This  year  there  had  been  white  frosts  in 
June  after  the  potatoes  were  up  two  or  three  inches, 
and  every  stalk  was  blackened  and  withered  down  to 
the  ground.  A  belated  scarecrow  was  still  standing  in 
one  of  Mr.  Fearn's  potato  fields.  It  was  made  out  of 
old  clothes  stuffed  with  hay,  and  it  had  its  arms  ex- 
tended, and  an  old  hat  fastened  on  top  just  like  one 
of  our  scarecrows  at  home.  But  you  would  not  find 
a  scarecrow  in  a  potato  field  with  us.  The  rooks 
"  howk "  out  the  "  tatties "  in  Scotland  when  their 
green  sprouts  first  break  up  through  the  earth,  and 
you  may  often  see  one  of  the  black  thieves  carrying 


144  *        The  Land  of  Heather 

off  a  recently  planted  tuber  in  its  bill.  In  Glen  Clova 
they  called  a  scarecrow  a  "  tattie-dooley/'  which,  trans- 
lated, means  a  potato-bogey. 

Late  one  afternoon  I  climbed  up  Mr.  Fearn's  butt 
of  moor  and  over  the  rocky  riggin  (ridge)  of  the  hill 
to  a  wide  marsh.  Scattered  about  the  high  waste  were 
a  few  sheep  feeding  on  the  sparse  grasses,  but  there 
were  not  enough  of  them  to  soften  much  the  loneli- 
ness of  the  spot  with  the  great  heather  hills  gloom- 
ing all  about.  The  farmer  had  finished  cutting  peat 
here  only  the  day  before,  and  where  the  dark  banks 
had  been  laid  bare,  I  could  see  that  the  bog  was 
full  of  large  roots  and  pieces  of  tree  trunks  —  plainly  it 
must  once  have  been  wooded.  Good-sized  oaks  are 
found  in  some  bogs,  black  with  the  peat  stain  to  their 
hearts.  The  wood  is  perfectly  sound,  but  it  cracks 
badly  when  exposed  to  the  air,  and  is  not  of  much  use 
except  for  fence  posts,  though  in  small  pieces,  carved 
and  poHshed,  it  has  value  in  the  form  of  ornaments. 

The  region  around  Glen  Clova  is  good  hunting 
ground,  and  the  Laird  let  it  for  the  winter  shooting  of 
grouse  to  a  London  gentleman  at  j£soo  a  season.  This 
sum  was  sufficient  to  make  every  brace  of  grouse  the 
Londoner  shot  cost  him  a  guinea.  Back  on  the  hills 
was  a  deer  "forest"  that  covered  many  square  miles. 
The  winter  previous  had  been  very  cold  and  snowy, 
and   the  wild   creatures  had  a  hard  time  of  it.     The 


Stirring  up  the  Fire 


A  Highland  Glen  145 

grouse  came  in  hundreds  down  to  the  roadway  in  the 
glen,  and  they  would  light  in  flocks  on  the  stacks  in 
the  stackyards.  The  partridges  and  the  crows  were 
very  familiar,  too.  Rabbits  and  hares  would  come 
close  to  the  houses,  and  in  the  morning,  after  a  snow, 
the  dooryards  would  be  padded  all  over  with  their  foot- 
marks. The  deer  descended  from  their  native  upland, 
and  the  farm  folk  would  see  them  stringing  along  at 
the  foot  of  the  brae  in  the  pastures.  The  farmers  did 
not  care  to  have  them  get  into  their  turnip  fields,  and 
they  would  go  out  with  their  guns  and  frighten  them 
back  to  the  high  moors.  The  creatures  were  "  near 
deid  wi'  starvation,"  or  they  would  not  have  ventured 
into  the  valley  at  all.  Mr.  Fearn  killed  a  dozen  of 
them  and  salted  down  their  meat.  The  schoolmaster 
shot  one  right  at  the  corner  of  the  schoolyard,  and  for 
several  nights  he  slept  with  his  gun  on  his  bed,  ready 
for  another.  The  deer  spoiled  a  young  planting  of 
seven  hundred  acres  of  spruce,  larch,  and  fir  by  getting 
into  it  and  biting  off  the  tops  of  the  Httle  trees.  The 
planting  was  fenced,  but  deer  are  famous  jumpers,  and 
when  urged  by  hunger,  no  protection  short  of  six  feet 
high  would  daunt  them. 

At  Craig  Eggie  the  road  down  the  valley  was  not 
passable  to  teams  for  nine  weeks  in  midwinter,  and 
Clova  village,  three  miles  above,  was  cut  off  from  the 
world  a  week  longer.     Yet  school  kept  as  usual,  and 


146  The  Land  of  Heather 

though  some  of  the  scholars  Hved  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance, the  snow  made  little  difference  in  the  attendance. 
Glen  Clova  children  are  hardy,  and  save  for  the  two  or 
three  smallest  ones,  they  waded  daily  back  and  forth 
through  the  drifts. 

Very  few  of  the  scattered  homes  of  the  glen  were  so 
placed  as  to  have  near  neighbors,  and  the  only  village 
cluster  was  up  the  valley  at  Clova,  where  were  a 
church,  a  white  manse,  a  hotel,  and  several  small  dwell- 
ings. The  people  from  all  the  region  around  came 
every  Sunday  to  attend  service  at  the  little  church,  some 
in  gigs  and  dogcarts,  but  the  large  majority  on  foot. 

Years  ago  the  glen  was  much  more  fully  populated, 
and  I  everywhere  came  across  the  broken  walls  of  old- 
time  houses.  One  spot  was  pointed  out  to  me  where 
had  been  a  group  of  thirty  dwellings  less  than  half  a 
century  before.  Now  there  were  only  two  —  a  farm- 
house and  the  lodge  of  a  game-keeper.  The  van- 
ished homes  had  been  mostly  cotter  houses,  each  with 
its  little  farm  of  three  or  four  acres  on  which  the  cotter 
raised  tatties  and  corn,  and  pastured  his  cow.  In  the 
cotter's  kitchen  of  those  bygone  days,  besides  the  one 
or  two  beds  and  other  necessary  furniture,  would  be  a 
hand-loom.  During  the  winter  this  was  rarely  idle,  and 
it  was  more  or  less  in  use  the  year  through.  The 
cloth  woven  in  these  country  houses  was  sold  to  a  man- 
ufacturer in  the  nearest  large  town.     When  machine 


A  Highland  Glen  147 

weaving  began  to  be  general,  the  cotters  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  support  their  families  wholly  on  the  produce 
of  the  Httle  farms,  and  they  were  obliged  to  seek  the 
mills  in  the  cities. 

The  development  of  machinery  and  the  country 
isolation  has  depopulated  rural  Scotland  everywhere. 
One  result  is  that  it  is  not  easy  for  the  farmers  to  get 
help  in  the  more  remote  districts.  The  laborers  drift 
to  the  towns  now  more  persistently  than  do  the  middle 
classes.  Nor  can  one  blame  them,  when  one  considers 
how  they  must  live  as  agriculturists. 

A  man  hired  out  to  a  farmer,  in  addition  to  his 
wages,  is  allowed  a  flagon  of  milk  daily  and  seventy 
pounds  of  oatmeal  a  month.  The  eating  arrangements 
are  simplicity  itself  He  sits  down  to  the  table  with  a 
deep  plate  full  of  porridge  and  a  bowl  of  milk  before 
him,  and  with  his  horn  spoon  dips  up,  alternately, 
porridge  and  milk,  until  he  reaches  the  bottom  of  the 
dishes.  There  are  no  further  courses,  and  there  is  no 
variation  in  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper.  Indeed, 
this  is  the  bill  of  fare  the  year  through  in  the  more 
backward  districts.  But  such  plain  living  is  not  as 
satisfactory  as  it  once  was,  and  the  man  is  very  apt  to 
sell  part  of  his  meal  and  get  tea  and  an  occasional 
piece  of  meat  or  loaf  of  bread. 

On  the  old-fashioned  farms  an  unmarried  laborer 
usually  has  a  dwelling  to  himself — a  little  "  placie  " 


148 


The  Land  of  Heather 


of  one  room  known  as  a  "  bothy."  Often  three  or 
four  laborers  inhabit  the  tiny  stone-walled  hovel  to- 
gether. Each  man  has  a  kist  for  his  clothes  and  other 
personal  belongings,  and  a  second  kist  for  his  oatmeal. 
A  table,  a  few  chairs,  a  kettle,  a  pot,  and  a  water-pail 
complete  the  furnishings  of  the  bothy.  The  man  who 
lives  in  his  employer's  household  has  his  allowance  of 
meal  and  milk  just  the  same  as  if  he  dwelt  outside,  but 
the  farmer's  wife  does  his  cooking,  and  he  is  very  likely 
given  such  extras  as  the  family  itself  eats.  Still,  even 
at  best,  I  did  not  wonder  that  laborers  failed  to  find 
life  on  the  isolated  farms  attractive,  nor  did  it  seem 
strange  that  the  lonely  glens  were  gradually  being 
deserted  by  the  farmers  themselves. 


^ 


ilvViSv*-.':':.'."' 


Ruins  of  a  Cotter's  Home 


VIII 


LOCHS     AND     BENS 


L 


AKES  and  mountains 
abound  throughout 
the  Highlands  to  an 
extent  that  in  many  sections 
leaves  little  else.  Very  few 
areas  of  any  size  have  escaped 
the  general  upheaval,  and 
such  aspects  of  gentleness  as 
these  northern  regions  dis- 
play are  usually  confined  to 
nooks  and  corners.  Of  this 
country  of  the  lochs  and  bens 
no  district  possesses  more 
charm  in  itself  and  in  its 
literary  and  historic  associa- 
tions than  that  which  contains 
Water  from  the  Well  j^^^j^g  Katrine  and  Lomond, 

and,  like  most  visitors  to  Scotland,  I  succumbed  to  the 
attraction  of  these  twin  lakes,  and  early  one  evening 

149 


so 


The  Land  of  Heather 


took  a  coach  at  Callander,  the  end  of  the  railway  line, 
to  go  through  the  Trossachs.  The  name  Trossachs 
means  bristled  region,  that  is,  a  region  of  rocks,  forest, 
and  craggy  mountain  ridges,  thrown  together  in  rude 
disorder ;  and  this  very  aptly  describes  not  a  little  of 
the  landscape  neighboring  Katrine  and  Lomond. 

The  coach  was  a  great  high  affair  with  four  seats 
running  crosswise  of  its  upper  story,  each  intended  to 
accommodate  four  persons.  Every  one  wanted  to 
mount  aloft  to  get  the  benefit  of  the  view,  and  the 
body  of  the  conveyance  was  simply  a  hollow  storage 
compartment  for  baggage.  The  place  on  a  coach  most 
coveted  by  the  passengers  is  the  front  seat  with  the 
driver.  Thence  you  get  an  unimpeded  outlook  and  a 
chance  to  chat  with  the  man  who  holds  the  reins  and 
pick  up  information.  On  this  trip  two  hustling 
Americans  snapped  up  the  sittings  on  the  front  seat. 
One  was  a  gray  little  man  with  a  toothless  lisp.  The 
other  was  his  wife,  a  ponderous,  red-faced  woman  who 
was  scarcely  less  intent  than  her  husband  to  gobble  up 
first  places.  As  soon  as  the  coach  drove  up  to  the 
station  these  two  were  right  on  hand,  elbowing  through 
the  crowd,  and  their  use  of  physical  force  and  liberal 
tips  to  porters  and  driver,  made  it  hopeless  for  any  one 
else  to  compete  with  them. 

There  were  two  other  typical  Americans  on  the  load 
who  at  once  made  themselves  apparent.     They  were  a 


A   Mountain  Stream 


Lochs  and  Bens 


51 


young  man  and  a  young  woman,  and  it  did  not  take 
much  penetration  to  decide  they  were  on  their  wed- 
ding-trip. The  young  man  came  briskly  out  of  the 
station  soon  after  the  train  arrived,  and  walked  all 
around  the  coach  to  see  if  there  were  vacant  seats. 
He  had  assumed  an  air  intended  to  impress  one  that 
he  was  an  experienced  traveller,  but  no  one  took  any 
stock  in  that,  unless  it  was  "  Clara,"  his  wife.  Still  we 
liked  him.  There  was  nothing  mean  and  crowding 
about  him  as  there  was  in  the  front  seat  couple.  We 
had  no  trouble  in  discovering  his  wife's  name,  for  he 
was  not  at  all  timid  in  his  tones,  and  he  spoke  to  be 
heard,  on  all  occasions,  no  matter  whom  he  addressed. 
"  You  get  up  on  that  seat,  Clara,"  he  would  say,  "  and 
I'll  get  up  here."  Then  later,  "  Are  you  all  right, 
Clara,"  etc.,  etc.,  always  loud  and  distinct,  and  Clara's 
name  tacked  on  to  every  sentence.  He  did  all  he 
could,  in  the  way  of  conversation  and  little  attentions, 
to  make  Clara  enjoy  herself,  and  she  seemed  quite 
appreciative. 

Much  of  our  journey  was  along  the  side  of  Loch 
Vennachar,  with  heather  hills  round  about  and  Ben 
Venue's  ragged  summit  looking  down  on  us  from  the 
west.  Toward  eight  o'clock  we  reached  "  The  Tros- 
sachs  Inn,"  a  great,  lonely  stone  hotel  which,  with 
its  wings  and  turrets,  looked  like  the  mansion  of  some 
wealthy    nobleman.       In    front   of  the    inn    the   land 


152  The  Land  of  Heather 

sloped  down  in  pleasant  meadows  to  Loch  Achray. 
Behind  it  the  hills  climbed  steep  and  high.  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  be  assigned  to  a  room  in  one  of  the 
hotel  turrets,  with  windows  that  overlooked  the  coun- 
try for  miles.  Best  of  all,  the  view  included  Ben 
Venue  in  the  distance,  lifting  its  calm  heights  far  into 
the  sky. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  started  for  a  walk  up  the 
valley.  The  road  wound  through  a  forest  in  which 
graceful,  round-plumed  birches  were  predominant, 
though  occasional  oaks  and  other  trees  were  not  lack- 
ing. The  woodland  was  quite  enchanting  with  the 
rank-growing  ferns  underneath,  and  the  continual 
glimpses  of  lofty  hills  and  mountain  peaks.  Now 
and  then  I  saw  a  rowan  tree  brightening  the  wood 
with  its  clusters  of  scarlet  berries,  and  again  a  high 
cliff  would  shoulder  into  view,  its  top  overflowing 
with  pink  heather  bloom.  Once,  in  a  marshy  open, 
a  red  deer  lifted  its  startled  head,  watched  me  a 
moment,  and  then  bounded  away  with  short,  hoarse 
barks  of  alarm.  Sometimes  a  rabbit  scudded  across 
the  roadway  ahead,  or  I  caught  a  momentary  glimpse 
of  a  bushy-tailed  red  squirrel  whisking  up  a  tree,  and 
these  various  denizens  of  the  woodland  added  greatly 
to  the  sylvan  charm. 

Thus  I  went  on,  up  and  down  the  little  hills 
through    the    ferny    forest,    till   a    turn   in    the    road 


Lochs  and  Bens 


^53 


brought  into  sight  the  waters  of  Loch  Katrine  reach- 
ing back  in  blue  inlets  among  the  tree-crowned  cliffs 
of  its  shores.  In  one  of  the  little  bays  lay  a  steamer 
with  a  lazy  wisp  of  smoke  drifting  up  from  its  black 
chimney.  It  seemed  out  of  place,  and  almost  as  sacri- 
legious as  does  the  conveyance  of  the  waters  of  this 
loch  of  romance  through  twenty-five  miles  of  iron 
pipe  to  supply  the  city  of  Glasgow.  But  the  lake 
water  is  remarkably  pure,  and  what  romance  loses, 
the  crowded  humanity  of  the  great  town  gains. 

I  kept  to  the  road  that  skirted  the  eastern  shore  for 
a  mile  to  the  famous  "  Silver  Strand."  This  is  no 
more  than  a  bit  of  white,  pebbly  beach,  hooking  out 
into  the  loch,  yet  it  has  a  fascinating  interest  from  its 
connection  with  Scott's  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  and  the 
spot  itself  is  delightful.  Southward  the  giant  Ben 
Venue  loomed  skyward  in  treeless  heather,  and  slopes 
of  emerald  turf,  and  outcropping  crags  of  gray  rock. 
Behind  me  were  woods  where  the  birds  sang  and  where 
the  sunshine  glinted  irregularly  through  the  leafage  to 
the  green  undergrowth  of  grasses  and  bracken.  The 
day  was  warm  and  quiet,  with  a  sky  of  cloudless  blue. 
Only  enough  wind  stirred  to  make  the  leaves  whisper 
and  the  pendant  branches  of  the  birches  sway,  and  to 
keep  a  pleasant  rippling  of  little  waves  along  the 
shore. 

Not  far  away  was  the  Isle  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake, 


154  The  Land  of  Heather 

rising  above  the  water  in  a  rocky  knoll,  wholly  covered 
with  trees,  just  as  Scott  described  it  — 

,   .    .    .    "  all  so  close  with  copse- wood  bound. 
Nor  track  nor  pathway  might  declare 
That  human  foot  frequented  there." 

Of  course  the  poet  drew  freely  on  his  imagination  in 
telling  the  story,  and  yet  it  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that 

**  Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour. 
Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower  ;  ' ' 

for  the  situation  of  the  isle  well  accords  with  such 
use ;  the  old  Celtic  chieftains,  their  lives  continually 
exposed  to  peril,  were  accustomed  to  have  a  secret 
domicile  ready  in  as  strong  and  easily  defended  a  spot 
of  the  most  retired  part  of  their  domains  as  could  be 
selected.  It  might  be  a  cave,  but,  more  often,  a  tower 
or  rude  hut  was  erected. 

The  plot  of  the  poem  is  not,  however,  dependent  on 
these  general  possibilities.  It  has  a  modicum  of 
genuine  historic  foundation.  The  facts  are  these  —  a 
troop  of  Cromwell's  cavalry  had  made  a  raid  into  the 
Trossachs,  and  the  local  Highlanders  had  carried  all 
their  most  valuable  property  to  this  little  island  in 
Loch  Katrine,  and  left  it  there  in  the  care  of  the 
women  and  children.  The  soldiery  learned  of  what 
the  natives  had  done,  and  came  to  the  borders  of  the 


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HKiiiai 

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Loch  Katrine  and  Ben  Venue 


Lochs  and  Bens  155 

lake ;  but  they  could  discover  no  means  of  getting  out 
to  the  islet.  While  they  were  debating  the  difficulty, 
a  trooper  with  sharper  eyes  than  his  fellows  noticed  a 
boat  moored  under  one  of  the  island  cliffs,  and  he  vol- 
unteered to  swim  across  and  get  it.  If  they  could 
possess  themselves  of  the  boat,  access  to  the  isle  would 
be  easy,  and  they  were  sure  to  gain  a  rich  reward  of 
plunder.  The  man  was  a  good  swimmer,  his  progress 
was  rapid,  and  his  comrades  soon  saw  him  nearing  the 
island.  But  as  he  was  about  to  set  his  foot  on  land,  a 
woman  armed  with  a  sword  appeared  and  smote  off  his 
head,  and  his  lifeless  body  fell  back  into  the  water. 
His  fellow-soldiers  in  great  dismay  and  anger  vainly 
discharged  their  guns  toward  the  island,  yet  none  of 
them  ventured  any  further  attempt  to  secure  the  boat. 
Shortly  they  withdrew,  and  left  the  possessors  of  the 
islet  undisturbed.  The  name  of  the  woman  who  by 
her  valor  saved  the  refuge  from  the  invaders  was 
Helen  Stewart,  and  it  was  christened  in  her  honor 
Helen's  Isle.  Fiction,  however,  has  proved  more 
powerful  than  fact,  and  the  island  is  now  much  more 
distinctly  connected  with  the  name  of  Ellen  Douglas 
than  with  that  of  Helen  Stewart. 

When  I  retraced  my  steps  along  the  borders  of  the 
loch  I  found  the  brisk  little  steamer  fast  filling  with 
passengers,  and  soon  it  cast  loose,  and  we  were  off  for 
the  other  end  of  the  lake.     During  the  first  part  of  the 


156  The  Land  of  Heather 

journey  the  shores  rose  in  wooded  precipices  and  the 
mighty  Ben  Venue  looked  down  from  near  at  hand, 
and,  better  still,  we  passed  close  by  the  wild  Httle 
Ellen's  Isle.  Later  the  country  turned  milder,  and  on 
either  side  were  simply  great  grazing  hills,  sweeping  far 
upward  in  green,  unwooded  slopes. 

We  arrived  at  our  destination  in  the  course  of  an 
hour.  The  steamer  was  lashed  to  a  pier,  and  we  all  hur- 
ried off  to  get  a  choice  of  seats  on  the  three  big  coaches 
that  stood  waiting  on  the  near  highway.  These  were 
to  take  us  six  miles  over  the  hills  to  Inversnaid  on 
Loch  Lomond,  and  each  vehicle  had  four  horses  and 
a  red-coated  driver  and  liveried  footman.  The  route 
led  through  a  deserted  country  of  heather-clad  uplands, 
where  the  only  life  was  the  groups  of  feeding  sheep. 
Presently  we  began  the  descent  toward  Lomond  by 
sharp  loops  of  the  steepest  sort  of  roadway.  The 
brakes  were  set  tight,  and  scraped  and  jarred,  but  the 
horses  kept  on  at  a  trot,  and  when  the  driver  swung 
his  whip  and  let  the  long  lash  cut  through  the  air, 
they  broke  into  a  spurt  of  galloping.  The  passengers 
braced  their  feet  and  imagined  what  would  happen  if 
anything  gave  way,  or  if  we  met  a  team  as  we  turned 
one  of  the  wooded  curves.  The  drive  and  these  im- 
aginings were  the  more  exhilarating  by  reason  of  a 
deep  ravine  whose  precipitous  edges  were  skirted  by 
the  narrow  road  for  the  final  mile  or  two. 


Lochs  and  Bens  157 

Our  journey's  end  was  a  steamer  wharf  at  the  edge 
of  the  loch,  with  a  big  hotel  just  up  the  hill.  As  the 
coaches  came  to  a  standstill  two  men  with  bagpipes 
began  to  march  back  and  forth  in  front  of  the  hotel, 
playing  away  with  ardor  enough  for  a  whole  orchestra. 
We  were  also  welcomed  by  three  bareheaded  gypsies 
—  a  frouzy  woman  and  two  girls,  —  each  of  whom 
accosted  such  of  the  travellers  as  they  could  waylay 
with  the  words,  "  Please  gie  me  a  penny,  sir,  to  buy  a 
cup  o'  tea  wi',  sir,"  in  the  most  plaintive  of  tones. 

Rob  Roy,  that  most  noted  of  outlaws  since  Robin 
Hood,  owned  property  in  Inversnaid,  and  had  a  cave 
not  far  away  to  the  north  on  the  border  of  the  lake, 
where  he  sometimes  took  refuge  when  hard  pressed. 
All  the  region  around  is  full  of  associations  with  this 
wild  chieftain.  Mediaevalism  was  not  extinct  in  the 
Highlands  until  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
and  Rob  Roy  flourished  here  less  than  two  hundred 
years  ago.  He  was  born  about  1660,  in  Glen  Gyle, 
at  the  head  of  Loch  Katrine ;  and  in  Balquidder, 
a  little  farther  north,  he  lies  buried,  and  his  gravestone, 
with  a  sword  roughly  carved  on  it,  can  be  seen  there  in 
the  churchyard. 

He  was  of  the  hardy,  unruly  clan  of  the  Macgregors, 
whose  very  name  was  outlawed  so  that  its  members 
were  obliged  to  add  some  other  appellation.  Thus 
Rob  Roy's  full  name  was  Robert  Macgregor  Camp- 


158  The  Land  of  Heather 

bell.  Roy,  meaning  red,  was  simply  a  nickname 
suggested  by  the  color  of  his  hair  and  his  ruddy 
complexion.  In  person  he  was  unusually  strong  and 
compact,  with  great  breadth  of  shoulders  and  very  long 
arms,  and  he  was  a  master  in  the  use  of  the  Highland 
sword.  But,  more  potent  as  a  safeguard  than  bodily 
strength  or  skill  with  weapons,  was  his  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  all  the  recesses  of  the  rough  country  in  which 
he  harbored.  This  was  admirably  suited  to  his  pur- 
poses. It  was  broken  up  into  narrow  valleys,  and  the 
habitable  parts  bore  no  proportion  to  the  huge  wilder- 
nesses of  forest,  rocks,  and  bogs  by  which  they  were 
encircled.  A  few  men  acquainted  with  the  ground 
and  well  led  were  capable  of  baffling  the  pursuit  of 
numbers. 

Rob  was  not  always  an  outlaw,  and  for  a  consider- 
able period  was  favorably  known  as  a  dealer  in  cattle. 
No  lowland  or  English  drovers  in  those  days  would 
venture  into  the  roadless  northern  hills  and  mountains, 
and  the  cattle,  which  were  the  staple  commodity  of  the 
uplands,  were  driven  down  to  border  fairs  by  parties  of 
Highlanders  with  their  arms  rattling  about  them.  Dis- 
putes and  fights  sometimes  occurred ;  but  in  the  main 
the  trading  was  done  peaceably  and  in  all  honor  and 
good  faith.  While  engaged  in  this  cattle  traffic  in 
early  manhood  Rob  Roy  became  a  trusted  agent  in 
purchase    and    sales    for    his    powerful    neighbor,   the 


Lochs  and  Bens  159 

Duke  of  Montrose.  He  maintained  herds  of  his  own 
in  a  glen  north  of  Loch  Lomond ;  and  because  he 
often  suffered  loss  from  marauders  dwelling  among 
the  hills  still  more  to  the  north,  he  organized  a  com- 
pany of  armed  men.  He  not  only  protected  his  own 
flocks,  but  those  of  all  the  dwellers  in  his  vicinity,  for 
which  service  he  levied  a  tax.  At  length  came  a  time 
when,  through  unfortunate  speculations  and  the  dis- 
honesty of  a  partner,  he  was  rendered  totally  insolvent, 
and  the  Duke  of  Montrose,  to  whom  he  was  deeply  in 
debt,  seized  his  estates. 

Rob  himself  got  away  and  collected  a  band  of 
twenty  followers.  Then  he  proceeded  to  annoy,  by 
every  means  in  his  power,  the  duke,  and  all  that 
nobleman's  tenants,  friends,  allies,  and  relatives.  But 
Rob  did  not  confine  his  attentions  to  them.  Under 
one  pretence  or  another  he  raided  all  his  neighbors 
of  the  lowlands  who  had  anything  to  lose,  unless  they 
bought  security  by  an  annual  payment.  In  spite  of 
his  calling  he  was  after  a  manner  benevolent  and 
humane  rather  than  cruel  and  ferocious.  He  avoided 
bloodshed  as  much  as  possible,  and  was  liberal  in 
relieving  the  poor,  of  whom  there  was  no  lack,  owing 
largely  to  Rob  Roy  himself  and  other  depredators 
of  his  kind  ;  for  the  lawlessness  of  the  region  discour- 
aged industry,  and  there  was  little  culture  of  the 
ground  and  no  manufactures  or  trade. 


i6o  The  Land  of  Heather 

The  robber  chief  never  stirred  without  a  body- 
guard of  ten  or  twelve  picked  followers,  and  when  he 
chose  he  increased  this  number  to  fifty  or  sixty.  He 
rarely  had  any  trouble  in  eluding  or  driving  off  the 
expeditions  sent  against  him,  and  on  the  one  or  two 
occasions  when  he  was  captured,  he  quickly  escaped. 
If  he  suffered  any  serious  damage,  he  without  delay  re- 
venged himself  For  instance,  when  his  house  was 
burned,  he  made  a  descent  on  the  factor  of  the  Mon- 
trose family  who  was  on  a  rent-collecting  tour,  and  car- 
ried off  all  the  money  the  man  had  gathered,  to  the 
last  shilling.  Rob's  usual  method,  however,  of  levying 
on  the  duke's  rentals  was  much  more  matter-of-fact. 
To  a  considerable  extent  the  tenants  paid  in  grain,  and 
storehouses  were  established  at  various  points  for  its 
reception.  Rob  Roy  was  in  the  habit  of  helping  him- 
self to  such  quantities  of  grain  as  he  pleased,  some- 
times for  his  own  use,  sometimes  for  the  assistance  of 
needy  country  people  ;  but  he  never  failed  to  give  reg- 
ular receipts  for  what  he  took,  pretending  that  he  was 
going  to  reimburse  the  duke  for  it  later. 

As  he  advanced  in  years  he  became  more  peaceable, 
and  the  duke,  who  had  found  offensive  measures  ineffec- 
tual, stopped  harrying  the  Macgregors,  and  to  such  of 
them  as  would  settle  down  he  gave  leases  at  a  low  rental. 
The  result  of  the  duke's  clemency  in  the  case  of  Rob 
Roy  was  that  toward  the  close  of  his  life  he  dwelt  un- 


^B^:^^ 


Highland,  Pipers 


Lochs  and  Bens  i6i 

disturbed  under  his  own  roof,  and  about  the  year  1733 
he  died  in  his  own  bed  in  the  parish  of  Balquidder. 

His  temper  was  not  without  fire  to  the  very  last. 
During  his  final  illness  it  was  announced  to  him  by 
members  of  his  family  that  a  certain  person  with  whom 
he  was  at  enmity  had  come  to  visit  him.  "  Raise  me 
from  my  bed,"  commanded  the  sick  man,  "  throw  my 
plaid  around  me  and  bring  my  claymore  and  pistols. 
It  shall  never  be  said  that  a  foeman  saw  Rob  Roy 
Macgregor  defenceless." 

The  visitor  then  entered  and  made  friendly  inquiry 
after  Rob  Roy's  health,  but  the  latter  maintained  a  cold, 
haughty  civility  during  the  short  conference.  As  soon 
as  the  caller  had  gone  the  old  chieftain  sank  back, 
saying,  "  Now  all  is  over.  Let  the  piper  play,  '  We 
return  no  more.*  " 

The  piper  played,  but  before  the  quavering  dirge 
was  finished  Rob  Roy  had  expired  ;  and  when  the 
news  of  his  death  spread,  his  loss  was  lamented  far  and 
wide  in  his  own  wild  district. 

When  I  prepared  to  leave  Inversnaid,  I  sought  the 
wharf,  and  looking  toward  the  north  saw  approaching 
from  among  the  mountains  the  black  hull  of  a  lake 
steamer  overhung  by  a  cloud  of  smoke.  The  sur- 
rounding scenery  was  on  such  a  grand  scale  that  the 
craft  appeared  to  be  very  low  and  small — just  a  little 
blot  on  the  waters  ;  but  it  proved  to  be  a  very  good- 


1 62  The  Land  of  Heather 

sized  double-decked  vessel.  Passengers  hurried  off, 
and  other  passengers  hurried  on,  the  big  piles  of 
trunks  and  boxes  were  rushed  aboard,  and  we  went  on 
southward.  The  hills  and  mountains  bordering  were 
higher  than  on  Loch  Katrine,  and  much  of  the  time  we 
had  in  view  the  majestic  Ben  Lomond  rising  serenely 
above  all  its  fellows.  On  the  lower  slopes  of  the 
heights  were  many  gray-green  acres  of  bracken,  and  in 
the  ravines  were  waterfalls  making  white  leaps  down 
the  steep  declivities.  Here  and  there  patches  of 
purple  heather  were  coming  into  blossom,  frequent 
woods  of  evergreen  and  copses  of  birch  grew  along  the 
shores  and  in  the  little  glens  that  furrowed  the  hillside, 
while  in  the  lake  itself  were  occasional  small  islands, 
on  which  could  now  and  then  be  ghmpsed  a  ruin  hid- 
ing among  the  trees. 

The  voyage  ended  at  the  extreme  lower  end  of  the 
lake.  Thence  I  continued  a  few  miles  south  to  Dumbar- 
ton, on  the  Clyde,  where  I  planned  to  spend  the  night. 
A  remnant  of  the  day  still  remained,  and  after  I  had 
selected  a  hotel  I  went  for  a  walk.  Ship-building  was 
plainly  the  chief  industry  of  the  place,  and  along  the 
river  were  the  great  yards  where  all  day  long  is  to  be 
heard  the  confused  clamor  of  hundreds  of  hammers 
ringing  on  the  iron  hulls  of  half-built  vessels.  When 
I  got  glimpses  into  the  enclosures  I  saw  forests  of  up- 
right timbers   supporting  the  new  vessels,  and   there 


Lochs  and  Bens  163 

were  black  foundries  and  workshops,  tall,  smoke- 
plumed  chimneys,  and  an  army  of  mechanics. 

My  ramble  ended  with  a  visit  to  the  old  castle 
perched  on  a  great,  rough,  double-turreted  cUff  that 
rose  steeply  from  the  level  banks  of  the  river;  and 
then  I  started  to  go  back  to  my  hotel.  It  was  later 
than  I  had  thought,  and  the  working  people  had  fin- 
ished their  suppers.  The  men  were  lounging  in  door- 
ways or  walking  the  streets,  children  were  playing 
on  the  pavements,  and  many  frowzled  women  were 
visiting  at  the  entrance  to  their  houses,  or,  if  it  hap- 
pened to  be  more  convenient,  in  the  middle  of  the 
highway.  There  was  abounding  dirt  and  slovenliness. 
All  the  poorer  children  were  barefoot,  and  so  were 
many  of  the  women,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  nearly 
every  woman,  even  down  to  the  young  girls,  had 
either  coarse  and  wrinkled  faces  or  bold  and  rude 
ones. 

I  had  just  returned  to  the  main  street,  after  threading 
through  several  of  the  byways,  when  I  heard  a  noise 
of  many  voices  and  saw  a  turmoil  of  people  approach- 
ing and  filling  the  thoroughfare  like  a  sudden  flood.  I 
hastened  to  the  protection  of  a  doorway  and  let  the 
mob  sweep  past.  In  the  front  and  centre  were  four 
men  carrying  a  fifth  on  their  shoulders,  and  the  fifth 
man  lay  apparently  lifeless,  with  a  white  face  falling 
limply  to  one  side.     This  grewsome  vanguard  hurried 


164  The  Land  of  Heather 

on,  with  men,  women,  and  children  running  after,  and 
from  every  alley  poured  newcomers,  till  the  whole 
town  was  alive  with  people,  and  I  could  not  but  wonder 
how  such  numbers  could  get  together  so  quickly.  The 
majority  followed  the  injured  man,  but  others  gathered 
in  excited  groups,  and  all  sorts  of  stories  were  circu- 
lated as  to  what  the  trouble  was.  One  said  the  man 
had  dropped  in  a  faint,  another  that  the  bobby 
(policeman)  had  struck  him  and  laid  his  head  open 
with  a  club,  another  that  he  had  been  hit  in  fun  by  a 
friend. 

Presently  I  went  on,  and  entered  the  side  street  on 
which  stood  my  hotel.  To  my  surprise  I  found  the 
crowds  continually  getting  thicker  and  more  excited. 
A  particularly  dense  and  uneasy  mob  was  gathered  in 
front  of  my  hotel,  and  I  had  difficulty  in  forcing  a  way 
through.  I  was  admitted  at  a  side-gate  by  one  of 
the  women  of  the  house  who  was  looking  out  over 
the  wicket,  and  from  her  I  got  the  full  story  of  the 
disturbance. 

Jacob  Primmer,  an  anti-papist  of  considerable  fame, 
had  been  lecturing  on  the  common.  There  were  many 
Catholics  among  his  hearers,  and  his  denunciations  so 
stirred  them  that  they  resorted  to  violence,  and  the 
orator  had  to  be  escorted  to  his  hotel,  which  happened 
to  be  the  very  one  I  had  chosen,  in  the  midst  of  eleven 
policemen.     Sticks  and  stones  were  thrown,  and  a  stray 


Lochs  and  Bens  165 

missile  had  struck  and  stunned  the  man  I  had  seen 
carried  along  the  main  street.  The  mob  outside 
thought  Primmer  would  go  to  the  railroad  station 
later  in  the  evening,  and  were  waiting  to  assault  him  ; 
but  he  disappointed  them  by  staying  at  the  hotel  over 
night.  I  saw  him  when  I  went  indoors  —  a  brisk  little 
man,  getting  gray  and  elderly.  He  looked  harmless 
enough,  and  he  seemed  in  no  wise  disconcerted  by  the 
riot  he  had  brought  about  his  ears. 

It  was  not  very  agreeable  stopping  in  a  house 
beleaguered  as  mine  was,  but  it  was  an  interesting 
experience.  The  sounds  that  came  from  the  street 
reminded  me  of  the  angry  hum  one  hears  within  a 
beehive  when  it  is  given  a  disturbing  rap.  For  an 
hour  or  so  the  crowd  hung  on,  and  then  a  street 
musician  came  along  and  played  a  merry  tune  on  an 
accordion.  That  was  a  great  help  tovv^ard  a  peaceful 
dispersion,  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  a  good  dose  of 
pleasant  melody  would  have  a  quieting  effect  on  any 
mob. 

The  next  morning  I  returned  to  Loch  Lomond  and 
sailed  northward  the  full  length  of  the  lake.  The 
steamer  was  thronged,  and  the  day  sunny.  The  men 
smoked,  and  the  women  read  and  chatted.  At  the 
piers,  everywhere  we  stopped,  buses  and  coaches  and 
parties  of  pleasure-seekers  were  waiting,  and  each  time 
as  soon  as  we  got  under  way  again  a  boy  made  the 


1 66  The  Land  of  Heather 

rounds  of  the  deck  with  a  basketful  of  guides,  souvenirs, 
and  photographs  for  sale. 

At  the  head  of  the  lake  I  exchanged  the  steamer  for 
the  railway,  and  by  noon  reached  Dalmally,  not  far 
from  another  of  the  famous  Scotch  lochs  with  its 
attendant  mountains.  A  visit  to  this  loch  was  the 
pleasantest  feature  of  my  stay  at  Dalmally.  It  was 
four  miles  distant,  a  comfortable  walk  down  a  wide 
valley  on  a  road  that  much  of  the  way  kept  company 
with  a  little  river  lingering  through  drowsy  lowlands. 
Though  it  was  not  yet  mid-August,  all  the  greens  of 
woods  and  fields  wxre  lightened  in  the  early  morning 
of  the  day  I  walked  to  Loch  Awe  by  a  heavy  white 
frost,  and  when  the  sun  began  to  get  high,  the  beech 
leaves  shrivelled  at  their  tips  and  looked  scorched ; 
but  except  for  this  I  did  not  observe  that  the  frost  did 
any  special  harm.  In  time  I  sighted  the  lake  bask- 
ing in  blue  serenity  beneath  the  quiet  summer  sky. 
Wandering  breezes  rippled  its  surface  here  and  there 
into  silver,  and,  well  out  in  the  midst,  a  lazy  rowboat 
was  paddling  back  and  forth,  its  occupants  intent  on 
fishing.  But  what  attracted  the  eye  most  was  the 
beautiful  ruin  of  Kilchurn  castle.  Its  half-fallen  walls 
rose  above  a  little  grove  of  attendant  trees,  and  in  the 
background  was  a  lofty  tumble  of  mountain  ranges, 
with  Ben  Cruachan  monarch  of  the  peaks.  The  old 
castle  was  a  gem,  and  I  promptly  turned  my  footsteps 


Lochs  and  Bens  167 

in  its  direction.  It  lay  beyond  a  long  stretch  of  marshy 
meadows  where  a  group  of  men  and  women  were  at 
work  haymaking. 

I  approached  the  ruin,  expecting  to  find  it  wholly 
forsaken  to  nature,  and  was  a  good  deal  surprised  to 
come  on  a  bevy  of  hens  and  chickens  picking  about 
under  its  walls,  and  to  discover  that  the  entrance  was 
barred  by  a  heavy  oak  door.  On  the  door  was  a  little 
sign,  "  Ring  the  bell,"  and  I  pulled  a  cord  that  dangled 
down  close  by.  Soon  I  heard  footsteps.  The  door  was 
opened,  and  a  middle-aged  woman  admitted  me  to  the 
castle.  As  soon  as  I  crossed  the  threshold  I  found 
myself  in  an  ancient  earthen-floored  dungeon  with  a 
vaulted  roof,  for  the  entrance  here  was  one  cut  through 
in  recent  years.  The  woman  keeper  of  the  fortress 
did  not  Hve  in  the  ruin,  but  in  an  ivied  cottage  that 
had  been  built  in  a  green  court  of  the  castle  interior. 
There  it  was  nestling  under  the  old  walls,  with  its  chim- 
ney cheerfully  smoking  and  giving  a  pleasant  domestic 
touch  to  the  historic  ruin. 

I  explored  the  castle  thoroughly,  climbed  its  towers, 
followed  its  walls,  looked  up  its  cavernous  chimneys ; 
and  then  a  shower  came  trailing  down  from  Ben  Crua- 
chan.  From  the  parapet  of  the  fortress  I  saw  the 
new-starting  streams  glisten  in  the  high  ravines  of  the 
mountain,  and  I  watched  them  grow  and  ghde  with 
frequent  foamy  tumbles  down  the  slopes.     When  the 


1 68  The  Land  of  Heather 

shower  struck  the  castle,  I  sought  the  dungeon  at  the 
entrance,  opened  the  oaken  door  for  the  sake  of  light, 
and  sat  there  looking  out  on  the  flying  rain.  The 
hens  sidled  up  to  the  doorway  from  the  coops  under 
the  near  bushes  and  studied  their  chances  for  steahng 
into  the  apartment ;  but  I  blocked  the  way,  and  they 
sank  discouraged  heads  between  their  shoulders,  and 
stood  just  outside,  with  the  water  sliding  in  little  rills 
off  their  tail-feathers.  Tricklings  from  the  rain  above 
came  down  plentifully  into  the  dungeon,  and  the  fur- 
rows in  the  hard  earth  underfoot  showed  that  in  heavy 
downpours  the  streams  must  have  run  in  small  tor- 
rents clear  across  the  sloping  floor  and  out  beneath 
the  entrance  door. 

I  might  have  found  the  dungeon  a  trifle  tiresome, 
but  the  lady  of  the  castle  came  to  my  relief  and  enter- 
tained me  with  some  ancient  lore  of  the  region.  There 
was  a  time,  she  said,  when  there  was  no  Loch  Awe  at 
all  —  only  a  deep  valley.  In  those  days  a  race  of 
giants  inhabited  the  land,  and  the  vale  was  filled  with 
their  flocks.  Their  home  was  on  the  lofty  heights  of 
Ben  Cruachan,  and  they  spent  much  of  their  time  in 
hunting  over  the  hills.  In  the  valley  was  a  spring 
which  was  mysteriously  connected  with  the  destinies  of 
the  giants,  and  it  was  their  sacred  duty  neither  to  allow 
the  last  ray  of  the  sun  at  eventide  nor  its  first  gleam 
in  the  morning  to  touch  the  water.     To  prevent  this  a 


Lochs  and  Bens  169 

large  stone  was  laid  over  the  fountain  just  before  sun- 
set, and  this  was  on  no  account  removed  until  after 
sunrise  the  next  morning. 

For  ages  the  spring  was  faithfully  guarded ;  but  the 
race  gradually  dwindled  until  only  one  remained  to 
perform  the  task  —  a  giantess  of  such  mighty  stature 
that  she  could  step  from  the  summit  of  one  mountain 
to  that  of  another  at  a  single  stride.  One  afternoon  in 
the  heat  of  midsummer,  after  a  fatiguing  day's  hunt, 
she  sat  down  to  rest  for  a  little.  She  recollected  that 
she  must  soon  descend  into  the  valley  to  cover  the 
spring,  but  the  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens,  and  there 
was  no  need  of  haste.  Unfortunately,  she  fell  asleep, 
and  did  not  awake  until  the  following  morning.  It 
was  broad  daylight,  yet  when  the  giantess  looked  about 
her  she  hardly  knew  where  she  was,  so  changed  was 
the  scene.  A  vast  sheet  of  water  now  filled  the  vale, 
many  of  the  lesser  hills  were  changed  to  islands,  and 
her  flocks  were  all  drowned.  Such  had  been  the  result 
of  leaving  the  spring  uncovered  for  a  single  night. 
More  than  that,  as  she  looked  with  dismay  on  the 
destruction  she  had  caused,  she  felt  her  strength  ebb- 
ing away,  and  knew  she  was  doomed.  In  some  occult 
manner  her  life  was  connected  with  the  spring,  and  she 
soon  lay  dead  on  the  high  moorland.  With  her  ended 
her  race,  and  Loch  Awe  remains  their  sole  memorial. 

Another  legend  was   of  an   island  of  the   loch  on 


lyo  The  Land  of  Heather 

which  was  once  an  enchanted  garden  more  beautiful 
than  any  other  spot  on  earth.  Golden  apples  hung 
ever  fair  on  its  trees,  and  a  frightful  dragon  watched 
over  them.  Persons  sailing  past  sometimes  caught 
gleams  of  the  golden  fruit,  and  if  the  boat  came  at  all 
near  the  isle,  those  on  board  were  likely  to  see  the 
dragon  flapping  the  air  with  his  tail  and  opening  his  enor- 
mous mouth  significantly.  While  the  garden  on  this 
island  still  bloomed,  there  lived  on  the  slope  of  Ben 
Cruachan  a  fair  maiden  named  Mego.  She  had  every- 
thing a  reasonable  maiden  could  wish  for,  yet  she  was 
not  happy.  Nothing  would  do  but  she  must  have 
one  of  the  dragon-guarded  golden  apples.  So  she 
ordered  Frooch,  her  lover,  to  get  one  for  her. 

Frooch  foolishly  swore  to  do  as  she  bid,  and  get  the 
apple,  dragon  or  no  dragon.  Accordingly  he  swam 
over  to  the  island,  and  he  and  the  dragon  fought  until 
the  life  was  belabored  out  of  both  of  them.  Immedi- 
ately the  golden  apples  and  the  enchanted  garden 
vanished,  and  the  island  became  like  other  islands. 
As  for  the  maiden,  Mego,  she  pined  away  and  died, 
but  whether  for  lack  of  the  coveted  apple  or  in  re- 
morse for  the  loss  of  her  brave  lover,  the  lady  of 
Kilchurn  castle  could    not   say. 

The  shower  was  past  by  the  time  these  tales  were 
finished,  and  I  started  back  toward  Dalmally.  I 
lingered  through  the  meadows  where  the  tall  grasses 


Lochs  and  Bens  171 

hung  heavy  with  water  drops  prismatic  in  the  sunlight, 
and  before  I  knew  it,  another  storm  was  brewing  among 
the  mountain  peaks,  and  its  mists  of  falling  rain  were 
sweeping  high  and  gray  across  the  western  sky. 
Then  Httle  shreds  began  to  veil  the  near  slopes, 
and,  though  I  hastened,  the  first  drops  caught  me  in 
the  open  meadows.  No  house  was  near,  and  I  ran  to 
the  protection  of  a  railroad  bridge,  and  sat  and  waited 
beneath  it  by  the  edge  of  the  stream,  with  my  back 
against  the  stone  abutment.  The  storm  was  fierce 
while  it  lasted,  but  that  was  not  long,  and  then  I  took 
the  Dalmally  road  again. 


Loch  Lomond  and  Ben  Lomond 


IX 


THE    ISLE    OF    MULL 


i^ 

1 

&. 

'"^Hl 

w 

^^B» 

"'''^bH 

1^^ 

^^mwiri. , 

1 

1 

W- 

•""^^jr- , 

1 

A  Cottager  piling  Peat 


w 


HEN  I 
left  Dal- 
mally  my 
destination  was 
Oban  on  the  west 
coast.  The  jour- 
ney was  all  the  way 
through  the  tum- 
bled ridges  of  the 
Highlands,  a  part 
of  the  time  high 
on  the  sides  of  the 
bare,  rocky  hills, 
and  again  crooking 
along  low  down  in 


the  deep  valleys.  Often  these  valleys  were  just  nar- 
row defiles  that  left  only  room  enough  for  the  railway 
track,  a  cart  path,  and  a  stream.      The   brooks   and 


many 


rivers  were  swift  and   foamy,  and   there    were 
fishermen  angling  from  their  banks  or  wading  about 

172 


The  Isle  of  Mull  173 

in  their  rapid  waters.  One  odd  remembrance  of  the 
trip  is  of  seeing  three  stalks  of  Indian  corn  growing  in  a 
flower-bed  at  the  edge  of  the  platform  of  a  little  way- 
side station.  They  were  no  doubt  cultivated  as  semi- 
tropical  curiosities,  for  the  climate  had  not  heat  enough 
to  mature  ears. 

Oban  is  a  port  of  some  importance,  and  carries  on 
considerable  traffic  with  the  northwest  coast  and  the 
outlying  islands.  It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  I 
arrived,  and  though  there  were  certain  steamers  still 
coming  and  going,  the  day's  work  was  in  the  main 
done,  and  I  looked  out  on  a  peaceful  harbor  where 
many  little  rowboats  and  numbers  of  larger  craft  lay 
rocking  gently  at  anchor  in  the  golden  twilight. 

I  had  come  hither  with  intent  to  visit  some  of  the 
Hebrides.  Of  the  straggling  Hne  of  isles  that  make 
up  the  Inner  Hebrides,  Mull  is  one  of  the  largest  and 
most  easily  accessible,  and  I  decided  to  begin  with 
that.  It  lies  directly  seaward  from  Oban,  and  is  in 
plain  sight.  I  only  stayed  in  Oban  over  night,  and 
then  embarked  on  one  of  the  small  coasting  steamers 
for  an  island  village  by  the  name  of  Craignure.  It 
was  a  half-hour's  journey.  As  we  proceeded  the 
island  grew  more  distinct,  and  I  could  see  that  it  was 
very  rough,  everywhere  rising  into  misty  mountains, 
some  of  the  highest  of  which  reached  in  dreamy  blue 
far  up  into  cloudland.     On  the  lonely  island  shores 


174  The  Land  of  Heather 

I  now  and  then  saw  a  house  or  an  old  ruin,  but  as 
a  whole  the  outlook  was  so  deserted  and  sombre  it 
gave  me  a  touch  of  homesickness. 

I  knew  nothing  of  Craignure  except  that  it  had 
been  recommended  to  me  as  picturesque  and  charac- 
teristic ;  and  I  was  a  good  deal  disconcerted  when  the 
captain  told  me  to  step  down  below  to  disembark. 
That  meant  Craignure  was  so  minute  a  place  the 
steamer  did  not  go  up  to  a  pier,  but  signalled  for 
a  rowboat  to  come  out  to  meet  it.  I  glanced  shore- 
ward and  saw  a  few  houses  dotted  along  just  back 
from  the  beach,  and  I  could  see  a  boat  with  two  men 
pulling  at  the  oars  leaving  a  small  wharf.  The  steamer 
slowed  up  and  churned  the  water  with  the  backward 
dashing  of  its  paddles,  and  when  the  rowboat  ap- 
proached, a  rope  was  thrown  to  it.  The  little  craft 
swung  around  beside  the  steamer,  and  in  the  stiff  wind 
that  was  blowing  it  bobbed  up  and  down  on  the  waves 
and  bumped  against  its  ponderously  swaying  compan- 
ion, offering  a  most  uncertain  foothold,  I  thought,  as 
I  looked  out  on  it.  No  time  was  wasted.  Two  sail- 
ors took  me  by  the  arms  and  jumped  me  down,  my 
luggage  followed,  and  we  cast  loose  and  drifted  astern. 
The  steamer*s  paddles  began  to  revolve,  and  the  vessel 
was  soon  far  away,  while  we  labored  over  the  waves 
toward  the  shore.  The  experience  was  a  new  and  ex- 
citing one,  and  made  my  nerves  tingle  while  it  lasted. 


Churning 


The  Isle  of  Mull 


175 


I  had  been  told  there  was  a  hotel  at  Craignure,  and 
I  had  seen  it  from  the  steamer,  stark  and  stiff,  not  far 
from  where  we  were  to  land.  It  was  a  humble  affair, 
and  the  sign  across  its  front  was  so  worn  and  faded  as 
to  be  almost  unreadable.  I  spoke  to  the  boatmen 
about  getting  my  luggage  to  the  hotel,  but  they  in- 
formed me  that  the  building  was  vacant,  and  that  its 
business  had  been  discontinued  for  years. 

Then  what  could  I  do  ? 

Well,  they  didn't  know ;  but  I  might  try  at  "  the 
lodge  "  ;  and  they  explained  that  all  this  part  of  the 
island  was  owned  by  a  gentleman  who  had  a  mansion 
a  mile  back  from  the  village,  and  the  lodge  of  which 
they  spoke  was  at  the  entrance  to  his  park,  only  a 
short  walk  from  the  wharf  The  woman  living  there 
had  had  some  relative  stopping  with  her,  and  this  rela- 
tive was  going  away  that  day,  and  perhaps  now  she 
could  keep  me. 

The  lodge  proved  to  be  a  snug  little  cottage  behind 
a  fringe  of  trees  standing  just  within  the  gates  that 
guarded  the  entrance  to  the  park  driveway.  A  stout, 
talkative  old  lady,  who  had  red  cheeks,  contrasting 
pleasantly  with  a  white,  frilled  cap,  met  me  at  the 
door,  and  my  spirits  rose  at  once  when  she  said  her 
relative  had  gone  and  I  could  have  his  room.  I  did 
not  go  inside,  but  started  instead  for  a  ramble  that,  as 
it  happened,  occupied  nearly  all  day. 


176  The  Land  of  Heather 

There  was  little  to  keep  me  in  Craignure  village. 
It  consisted  of  a  small  church,  a  white  manse,  and 
scarcely  half  a  dozen  other  houses  all  told,  and  it  was 
so  extremely  quiet  that  I  was  half  inclined  to  think 
that  all  the  inhabitants  had  departed  with  the  relative 
of  the  lodge  lady.  I  soon  turned  away  from  the  vil- 
lage, entered  the  park,  and  followed  its  winding  road- 
way back  a  long  distance  through  woods  and  opens. 
This  brought  me  in  time  to  a  great  rusty  mansion. 
Near  it,  where  should  have  been  lawn,  was  a  big  tur- 
nip field,  surrounded  by  a  barbed-wire  fence,  and  the 
whole  place  was  overhung  with  a  strange  and  depress- 
ing air  of  dilapidation.  Had  some  old  tragedy  cast 
its  blight  on  the  manor,  I  wondered,  or  was  it  the 
home  of  an  unfortunate  member  of  the  gentry  who 
was  bankrupt  ? 

I  kept  on  past  the  mansion,  and  made  a  detour 
to  get  around  an  arm  of  the  sea  that  stretched  far  in- 
land ;  and  a  mile  or  two  beyond  that  I  came  to  a 
ruined  castle  on  a  cliff  of  the  wild  shore.  It  was  a 
gloomy  old  wreck  of  mediaeval  grandeur,  and  appealed 
strongly  to  the  imagination,  and  yet  I  was  more  inter- 
ested in  a  cottage  I  visited  close  at  hand.  This  cottage 
had  a  thatched  roof  and  thick,  low  walls  of  stone,  laid, 
not  in  mortar,  but  simply  chinked  with  peaty  turf  In 
one  end  of  the  dwelling  lived  a  harmlessly  insane  man 
and  his  sister,  in  the  other  end  a  lone  old  woman ; 


The  Isle  of  Mull  177 

though  the  entire  structure  was  no  larger  than  a  mod- 
erate sized  one-story  ell  of  an  American  farmhouse. 

By  the  side  of  a  slender  path  leading  down  to  a 
spring  in  a  near  hollow  was  a  tiny  garden  barely  two 
yards  square.  Here  I  found  the  old  woman  at  work; 
but  when  I  questioned  her  about  the  house  interior, 
she  desisted  and  led  the  way  to  the  door  at  her  end. 
The  door  gave  entrance  to  a  dark  apartment  where  she 
stored  her  peats.  It  was  unfinished  and  windowless, 
and  open  to  the  crooked  sticks  and  thatch  of  the  roof. 
Adjoining  it  was  the  smallest  living  room  I  had  ever 
seen  —  about  twelve  feet  by  six,  and  just  high  enough 
for  a  man  of  medium  height  to  stand  upright  under 
the  boards  of  the  loft  above.  To  pass  beneath  the 
supports  of  this  upper  floor,  stooping  was  a  necessity. 
A  small  fireplace  jutted  out  into  the  room,  and  a  bed, 
on  which  two  cats  were  dozing,  reached  clear  across 
the  far  end.  There  were  chairs  and  stools,  a  table, 
a  stand,  and  some  meagre  shelves  of  crockery,  so  that 
very  little  floor  space  was  left.  Picture  papers  were 
pasted  plentifully  over  the  walls  to  make  the  apart- 
ment warmer  as  well  as  more  beautiful,  and  a  diminu- 
tive window  furnished  light.  The  occupant  had 
reached  the  age  of  eighty,  she  said,  and  she  had  an 
allowance  from  the  parish,  but  in  the  main  she  paid 
her  own  way  by  hiring  out  to  work  in  the  fields. 

I  noticed  when  I   left  the  ancient  cottage  that  the 


lyS  The  Land  of  Heather 

weather  had  turned  more  threatening.  The  mountain 
tops  were  hooded  with  mists,  and  these  mists  crept 
lower  and  lower  down  the  ridges,  until  presently  it 
began  to  rain.  Not  far  away  was  a  farmhouse,  and  I 
turned  aside  and  hastened  to  it  by  a  rough  cart  road, 
and  rapped  at  the  entrance  to  the  kitchen.  A  woman 
responded,  but  when  she  saw  I  was  a  stranger,  begged 
me  to  go  around  into  the  garden  to  the  front  door. 
There  I  was  met  and  ushered  into  the  best  room.  I 
explained  how  I  happened  to  make  this  unexpected 
call,  and  the  woman,  with  hospitable  zeal,  insisted  that 
I  must  have  some  refreshment,  and  stepped  out  to  pre- 
pare it. 

While  she  was  gone  I  looked  about  me.  It  was  a 
stiff  sort  of  room  that  I  was  in,  apparently  only  in- 
vaded in  housecleaning  time,  and  on  such  special  occa- 
sions as  the  present.  The  wall-paper  was  of  an 
antiquated  stripe,  and  the  pictures  were  very  old-fash- 
ioned, and  included  a  sampler.  Around  the  edges  of 
the  room  a  dozen  or  more  chairs  were  arranged  in 
frigid  order,  each  with  a  tidy  on  its  back.  In  one 
corner  was  a  piano,  and  on  a  table  were  a  variety  of 
photographs  and  a  few  books. 

The  woman  soon  returned,  bearing  a  tray  loaded 
with  scones,  butter,  jelly,  a  pitcher  of  new  milk,  and 
a  pot  of  tea.  She  had  changed  her  gown,  meantime, 
and  had  run  down  to  the  hayfield  and  called  in  her 


The  Isle  of  Mull  179 

brothers,  Hugh  and  John.  They  were  now  in  the 
kitchen  making  themselves  presentable ;  but  in  a  few 
minutes  they  came  to  the  parlor.  I  stayed  fully  two 
hours,  and  these  farm-folk  never  flagged  in  their  kindly 
attentions,  and  gave  up  nearly  the  whole  time  to  mak- 
ing things  pleasant  for  me.  They  could  not  have 
done  more  had  I  been  a  friend  of  a  lifetime ;  and  they 
expressed  the  wish  that  I  had  come  to  Kilpatrick  Farm 
to  stay  instead  of  stopping  at  the  lodge,  adding  that 
they  could  have  made  me  very  bean  (comfortable). 
They  told  me  about  the  photographs  on  the  table  and 
the  pictures  on  the  wall,  and  John  stood  in  a  chair  and 
took  down  the  sampler  that  I  might  see  it  closer.  The 
woman  said  it  was  worked  by  a  sister  who  went  to 
boarding-school,  and  she  pointed  out  on  it  the  initials 
of  her  parents  and  their  twelve  children,  and  told  me 
all  their  names. 

By  and  by  my  entertainers  made  a  tour  of  the 
premises  for  my  benefit.  In  the  kitchen  a  fire  of  peats 
was  burning  in  a  rude  little  stove.  Until  compara- 
tively recently  they  had  used  the  wide  fireplace,  but  it 
had  no  grate  and  smoked  horribly,  and  so  they  bought 
the  little  stove.  They  wanted  the  proprietor  to  attend 
to  the  chimney  and  put  in  a  range,  but  he  would  not, 
nor  would  he  do  aught  to  better  their  ceiHng,  which 
was  black  with  soot  and  cracking  off  all  over  in  minute 
flakes.     This  landlord,  I  learned  from  others,  did  not 


i8o  The  Land  of  Heather 

take  much  interest  in  Mull  farming.  He  was  a  mil- 
lionnaire,  a  keen  business  man  who  had  made  a  good 
deal  of  money  by  his  own  efforts  and  gathered  more 
to  himself  by  marrying  a  titled  lady  twelve  years  his 
elder.  In  spite  of  his  wealth  he  was  a  stickler  for 
economy,  and  would  pick  up  empty  match  boxes  on 
the  London  streets,  and  he  exacted  his  dues  to  the 
last  halfpenny.  Yet  if  anything  took  his  fancy,  he 
thought  nothing  of  paying  a  thousand  pounds  for  it. 
Hugh  said  the  landlord  had  a  fine  mansion  in  London, 
and  that  this  one  in  Mull  was  no  more  than  a  hen- 
house to  that. 

In  the  Kilpatrick  Farm  kitchen,  the  floor  was  of 
flat  stones,  all  marked  in  a  curious  scroll-like  pattern 
that  covered  them  with  a  network  of  curling  lines. 
This  marking  was  renewed  regularly  every  Friday 
by  the  woman,  who  would  get  down  on  her  knees 
and  scratch  the  pattern  in  with  a  sharp  piece  of  soap- 
stone.  The  decorative  ornamentation  of  the  floor  was 
of  course  not  very  permanent,  yet  it  lasted  fairly  distinct 
over  Sunday.  At  one  side  of  the  room  hung  a  "  wag  at 
the  wa'  "  clock,  with  its  weights  and  pendulum  exposed, 
and  near  by  stood  a  dresser  full  of  old-time  pewter  and 
crockery.  The  woman  said  she  would  show  me  a  bag 
of  seaweed  she  had  in  the  pantry  —  seaweed  of  a  sort 
they  used  a  great  deal  in  making  puddings.  But  she 
forgot  that  in  the  pantry  she  had  prisoned  a  hen  and 


A  Kitchen   Corner 


The  Isle  of  Mull  i8i 

twenty  chickens.  This  family  came  running  out  when 
the  door  was  opened,  and  the  woman  drove  them  on 
through  the  kitchen  and  scullery  into  the  yard.  The 
seaweed  proved  to  be  Iceland  moss.  They  pulled  it 
on  the  shore  in  summer  at  low  water,  brought  it  to  the 
house  in  creels,  and  spread  it  on  the  grass  for  about  a 
month  to  bleach  and  dry.  They  always  gathered 
enough  so  that  they  could  put  away  a  bushel-bag  full 
of  the  shrunken  product  for  the  year's  use. 

They  had  to  depend  very  much  on  themselves  for 
the  food  they  ate.  No  grocer's  or  baker's  cart  ever 
visited  them,  and  no  "  flesher  "  with  "  dead  meat."  To 
a  considerable  extent  the  sea  was  their  larder.  The 
stalwart  brothers  often  went  fishing  of  an  evening,  and 
they  would  easily  catch  a  hundred  apiece,  and  some- 
times between  them  brought  home  half  a  thousand. 
A  part  of  the  catch  they  ate  fresh,  a  part  they  salted 
for  winter,  and  a  part  they  fed  to  the  pigs.  They  did 
not  think  much  of  fish  as  a  food  for  human  beings. 

The  doors  were  open  from  the  kitchen  through  the 
scullery  into  the  dairy,  and  I  was  invited  to  step  into 
the  last  named  apartment  and  look  about.  It  had  a 
stone  floor,  and  its  one  window  was  much  shadowed 
by  ivy,  so  that  it  must  have  been  dark  and  cool  in  the 
warmest  weather.  On  the  shelves  were  rows  of  heavy 
pans  full  of  milk,  a  tall  earthen  crock  for  cream,  and 
several  wooden  firkins  packed  with   butter.      Lastly, 


1 82  The  Land  of  Heather 

there  was  a  wooden  churn  of  the  slim,  upright  type, 
broad  at  the  bottom  and  small  at  the  top,  with  a  long 
handle  that  worked  up  and  down.  The  dairy  was 
clean  and  wholesome,  and  the  farm  folk  said  their 
butter  always  took  first  prize  at  the  fairs. 

Not  only  did  my  hosts  show  their  house,  but  they 
took  me  to  the  barn  and  byres.  The  inspection 
ended  with  the  barn  loft.  Here  was  not  much  just 
then  save  high-piled  bags  of  meat  (grain)  for  the  cattle, 
protected  by  an  occasional  clumsy  trap  set  for  rats,  and 
the  loft's  chief  claim  to  interest  lay  in  the  fact  that 
years  ago  the  people  of  the  neighborhood  frequently 
used  it  for  a  ballroom.  On  such  occasions  it  was  all 
trimmed  with  evergreens,  and  lit  with  "paraffine" 
lamps ;  there  was  music  of  harps,  pipes,  and  fiddles, 
and  they  had  very  merry  times.  But  they  never  had 
such  gatherings  now.  There  was  no  one  to  come  to 
them.  Formerly  nearly  twoscore  crofters  had  their 
homes  right  on  Kilpatrick  Farm,  and  all  of  them  had 
large  families.  To-day  there  was  not  a  single  croft 
family  left. 

In  a  corner  of  the  barn  loft  lay  a  heavy  round  stone, 
something  like  a  cheese,  with  a  hole  in  the  middle. 
Hugh  explained  that  it  was  the  upper  half  of  an  ancient 
grinding  stone,  a  relic  of  the  days  when  the  old  wives 
ground  their  own  oatmeal  by  hand.  He  had  seen 
them  do  it  when  he  was  a  lad,  and  they  did  it  yet  in 


The  Isle  of  Mull  183 

the  remote  Highlands.  If  the  supply  of  meal  ran  low, 
the  woman  would  bring  in  a  measure  of  oats,  dry  them 
in  a  pot  over  the  fire,  grind  them,  and  make  the  flour 
into  cakes,  all  within  two  or  three  hours.  He  had 
seen  butter  made  in  a  bottle,  too.  One  day,  while  in 
another  part  of  the  island,  he  had  stopped  at  a  cottage, 
and  a  woman  in  the  kitchen  was  shaking  something 
white  in  a  black  bottle,  and  she  said  it  was  cream. 
The  bottle  method  of  churning  is  adopted  by  crofters 
who  do  not  usually  make  butter,  and  who  take  this 
way  of  providing  a  little  for  expected  company  or  for 
a  family  treat. 

My  entertainers  used  excellent  English  in  convers- 
ing with  me,  but  ordinarily  they  talked  the  Gaelic, 
which  is  the  common  language  of  the  island,  and 
which  they  considered,  as  compared  with  English, 
decidedly  finer  and  more  expressive.  When  I  inti- 
mated that  I  must  be  getting  back  to  my  lodging- 
place,  they  insisted  I  should  lunch  again,  and  after 
that  they  escorted  me  out  the  front  door  as  far  as  the 
gate,  and  the  woman  picked  me  a  bouquet  from  her 
flower  garden.  At  the  final  handshaking  they  begged 
me  to  write  from  America  to  assure  them  that  I  reached 
home  safe.  From  the  end  of  the  lane  I  looked  back 
and  saw  the  three  standing  beside  the  garden  gate 
watching  me  out  of  sight,  and  I  went  on  with  a  heart 
warmed  by  their  hospitality  more  than  I  can  tell. 


184  The  Land  of  Heather 

It  began  to  rain  again  by  the  time  I  reached  the 
lodge,  and  evening  came  early,  with  a  steady  down- 
pour. I  sat  in  the  best  room  next  a  diamond-paned 
bay-window  that  had  a  wide  sill  set  full  of  potted 
plants.  The  rain  pattered  on  roof  and  roadway,  and 
rustled  through  the  leaves  of  the  trees,  and  I  heard 
the  low  roar  of  the  sea  pounding  along  the  shore. 
For  a  time  I  had  the  company  of  my  landlady,  who 
talked  with  hardly  an  interruption  until  her  work  took 
her  to  the  kitchen.  Then  her  husband  came  in  —  a 
withered  ancient  who  was  as  reticent  as  she  was  garru- 
lous. He  soon  adjourned  to  the  kitchen,  and  I  saw 
him  no  more.  The  wife,  as  she  stepped  around, 
busied  with  her  evening  tasks,  groaned  at  frequent 
intervals,  and  she  had  a  most  distressing  way  of  saying, 
"  Oh  dear  !  Oh  dear  !  "  over  and  over  again.  She  had 
lumbago  and  stomach  trouble,  she  informed  me,  and 
things  were  always  very  bad  with  her  in  stormy 
weather.  She  had  been  saying  yesterday  that  to-day 
would  be  rainy,  and  her  husband  had  thought  it 
would  be  fair  —  he  could  see  well  enough  now  that 
she  knew  best !  Perhaps  next  time  he  would  take  her 
word  when  she  told  him  things  would  be  thus  and  so  ] 
But  it  was  just  like  a  man  to  think  he  knew  all  there 
was  to  know  ! 

When  I  looked  out  next  morning  the  clouds  still 
hung  low  and  threatening,  but  the  rain  had  ceased,  and 


The  Isle  of  Mull 


185 


I  early  prepared  to  go  out  to  the  steamer  that  would 
take  me  away.  A  brisk  wind  blew,  and  the  waves  were 
crested  with  whitecaps,  and  dashed  into  high-leaping 
spray  along  the  rocky  shore.  The  rowboat  careened 
and  bounded  finely  when  it  got  beyond  the  cover  of 
the  pier,  but  the  embarking  was  safely  accomplished, 
and  the  spice  of  adventure  which  it  furnished  was  not 
by  any  means  the  least  agreeable  feature  of  the  day 
spent  on  this  far-away  Scotch  island. 


An  Old  Farmhouse 


THE    CROFTERS    OF    SKYE 


A  Fire  on  the  Floor 


I  WAS  not  re- 
turning to 
Oban.  On 
the  contrary  I  had 
taken  a  steamer 
bound  northward 
for  the  Isle  of 
Skye.  The  dis- 
tance was  only 
seventy-five  miles 
in  a  direct  hne, 
yet  our  irregular 
cruising  made  it  an 
all-day's  journey. 
We  zigzagged 
back  and  forth 
interminably  be- 
tween the  islands 
and  the  mainland, 
and  stopped  at 
every   tiniest    sea- 


i86 


The  Crofters  of  Skye  187 

side  village.  At  the  larger  places  we  entered  a  harbor 
and  tied  to  a  pier,  but  oftenest  we  simply  slowed  up 
in  the  offing  and  were  met  by  a  rowboat.  Every  one 
on  board  watched  the  transfer  of  passengers  from  the 
panting,  slow-heaving  steamer  to  the  wave-tossed 
smaller  craft  with  keen  interest.  No  mishaps  occurred, 
yet  there  was  always  a  decided  flavor  of  excitement  and 
danger. 

Many  ducks  were  afloat  on  the  billows  in  groups 
here  and  there,  but  at  our  approach  would  make  hasty 
dives  from  sight.  Multitudes  of  gulls,  too,  were  bob- 
bing on  the  waves,  and  other  multitudes  were  sitting 
on  the  low  rocks  at  the  water's  edge  or  were  idling 
about  in  the  air.  Sometimes  a  whole  flock  of  them 
would  be  startled  to  wing  from  the  sea  or  shore,  and 
there  would  be  so  many  that  they  formed  a  white 
cloud. 

Now  and  then  we  passed  a  lighthouse  or  met  a 
steamer,  or  had  a  sailing  vessel  or  two  within  our 
horizon,  but  the  prevailing  impression  was  one  of 
loneliness.  The  coast  was  rarely  if  ever  lost  to  sight. 
Much  of  it  rose  in  high,  rugged  clifl^s,  gray  and  worn 
with  the  unending  struggle  with  the  elements,  and 
everywhere  inland  were  great,  dark  hills  lifting  often 
into  dim  mountains  whose  higher  peaks  were  hidden 
by  the  clouds.  Villages  were  few  and  far  between, 
and  even  neighborless  single  habitations  were    infre- 


1 88  The  Land  of  Heather 

quent.  Most  of  the  homes  were  low,  earth-hugging 
thatched  cottages,  with  walls  of  dark  stone  that  made 
the  whole  structure  the  same  sombre  color  as  the 
landscape. 

Of  the  islands  we  passed  I  think  I  regarded  Eigg 
with  greatest  interest,  for  there,  long  ago,  was  enacted 
one  of  the  grimmest  of  old-time  tragedies.  It  was 
an  incident  in  the  warring  of  the  local  clans.  The 
Macleods  of  Skye  had  made  a  successful  descent  on 
the  island,  and  all  the  inhabitants,  numbering  two 
hundred,  were  driven  into  a  big  cave  near  the 
shore.  Then  the  savage  invaders  built  fires  at  the 
mouth  of  the  cave,  and  those  within  were  suffocated 
by  the  smoke,  and  not  one  escaped  the  cruel  death. 

I  went  "  steerage."  But  steerage  on  a  little  coasting 
steamer  is  very  different  from  what  it  is  on  an  ocean 
greyhound.  One  would  have  crowded  quarters  and 
the  company  of  the  scum  of  the  earth  on  a  trans- 
atlantic steamer,  while  here  there  was  abundant  room, 
and  the  peasantry  and  tradespeople  who  were  my  fellow- 
voyagers  were  in  no  wise  untidy  or  offensive.  I  was 
really  quite  comfortable,  in  spite  of  being  excluded 
from  the  upper  deck  and  from  the  cabin  at  the  stern. 

The  person  among  the  passengers  with  whom  I  be- 
came best  acquainted  was  a  heavy,  talkative  old  man. 
He  said  he  was  a  native  of  Skye,  and  when  that  island 
hove  into  sight  he  was  rapturous. 


The  Crofters  of  Skye  189 

"  Skye  is  not  a  place  of  dear  prices,"  he  declared. 
"It's  not  like  Oban.  Aha!  There  they  skin  the 
nose  off  you  with  their  prices.  But  Skye  —  Skye  is 
a  fine  place  to  live  —  good  fishing  —  it's  healthy  — 
beautiful  water  for  drinking,  not  the  like  of  it  in  this 
wide  world ;  and  there's  no  such  scenery  anywhere 
else  in  Scotland.  You  want  to  see  the  Coolin  Hills. 
But  you'll  have  to  have  stouter  shoes  than  those 
you're  wearing,  if  you're  going  tramping  there,  and 
you'll  want  thick  stockings  like  these  I've  got  on. 
Feel  of  'em.  They're  stiflF — not  soft  like  factory 
goods.  They're  homespun,  same  as  my  clothes. 
Those  trousers  now,  the  cloth  in  'em's  just  a  blanket, 
only  different  color,  and  it  washes.  When  those 
trousers  get  dirty  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  put  'em  in 
a  tub  with  water  and  soap  and  tramp  'em  out  the 
way  they  do  blankets. 

"  Do  you  see  the  tips  of  some  hills  'way  off  ahead  ? 
Some  of  the  mountains  back  in  there  are  black  —  black 
as  the  old  Nick !  There's  a  church  over  on  the  other 
shore  of  that  bay  we're  passing.  I  know  the  minister. 
He  got  married  lately,  and  I  saw  his  wife  when  I 
was  there  last  month.  Aha  !  They're  a  pair  of  old 
fools.  What's  the  good  of  people's  marrying  after 
they  get  to  be  sixty  !  A  man's  only  getting  a  nurse 
to  take  care  of  him.  You  get  cross  by  the  time  you're 
sixty,  and  ill-tempered,  and  the  dickens  is  to  pay  !  " 


190 


The  Land  of  Heather 


In  the  late  afternoon  we  drew  near  our  destination, 
and  the  steamer  swung  around  an  outjutting  of  high 
cliffs  into  the  quiet  of  Portree  harbor,  where  many- 
little  fishing-boats  lay  softly  rising  and  dipping  at 
their  anchorage.  For  a  short  time  our  arrival  made 
great  hurly-burly  on  the  pier,  and  then  things  quickly 
subsided  to  their  usual  tranquillity.  Near  by,  a  squad 
of  stout,  kerchiefed  women  were  busy  packing  herring 
in  barrels,  and  a  few  leathery-visaged  fishermen  were 
hulking  about.  Several  small  boys  were  dangling 
lines  from  the  wharf  or  from  the  boats  moored  along 
it,  and  were  catching  fish  from  the  clear,  green  sea- 
water  as  fast  as  they  could  pull  them  in.  I  would 
have  liked  to  linger  had  the  neighborhood  been  less 
odorous.  As  it  was,  I  soon  went  up  to  the  town  and 
sought  out  a  lodging-place. 

Portree  is  the  commercial  centre  of  the  island,  and 
though  its  people  number  only  about  a  thousand,  it 
boasts  of  five  hotels,  as  many  churches,  and  three 
banks.  A  large,  modern-looking  school-building 
stands  on  the  outskirts,  and  a  courthouse  and  jail 
front  on  the  open  square  in  the  town  centre.  The 
jail  was  empty  at  the  time  of  my  visit,  as  indeed  it 
is  usually,  for  the  islanders  are  uncommonly  peaceable 
and  law-abiding. 

The  town  is  built  in  a  thin  crescent  on  the  steep 
hillside  that  encloses  the  harbor.     The  houses  of  the 


The  Crofters  of  Skye  191 

better  class  are  as  a  rule  comfortable,  but  rather  bare. 
Two  stories  is  the  customary  height,  yet  the  dwelling 
is  often  confined  to  the  upper  floor,  and  the  lower 
used  for  a  shop.  In  a  few  instances  there  are  houses 
sufficiently  aristocratic  to  have  space  about  them  re- 
served for  a  yard  with  lawn  and  flowers,  and  a  little 
out  from  the  village  are  one  or  two  gentlemen's  places 
that  boast  a  bit  of  park.  On  the  other  hand,  many 
low  whitewashed  cottages  are  included  within  the 
village  precincts,  and  a  few  old  thatched  hovels. 

In  one  aspect  the  place  is  peculiarly  rural.  Many 
of  the  householders  keep  cows,  and  at  nightfall  the 
creatures  are  driven  in  from  the  outlying  pastures 
straight  through  the  town  streets  to  the  byres  behind 
the  dwellings.  It  seemed  odd  to  see  cows  so  much 
at  home  in  a  place  that  had  three  banks  and  five 
churches.  Aside  from  tradespeople,  the  inhabitants 
were  mainly  fishermen,  and  the  brown-sailed  herring- 
boats  put  out  from  the  harbor  at  noon,  or  eight  o'clock 
every  evening,  to  drag  their  nets  all  night.  I  would 
see  them  as  they  came  sailing  back  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, and  if  I  visited  the  wharf  a  little  later,  would  find 
the  crews  busy  shaking  the  shining  treasure  from  the 
nets  into  the  bottom  of  the  boats,  whence  they  after- 
ward shovelled  the  fish  into  baskets  and  set  them 
ashore. 

Coal  brought  from  the  mainland  is  burned  in  most 


192  The  Land  of  Heather 

of  the  homes,  but  the  poorer  folk  use  peat  cut  in  the 
island  bogs.  There  is  a  daily  mail,  and  with  the 
arrival  of  this  in  the  evening  the  people  get  the  news- 
papers published  that  morning  in  Edinburgh.  Portree 
does  not  lack  in  culture,  as  is  witnessed  by  a  village 
improvement  society,  a  literary  club  whose  members 
prepare  and  read  original  essays,  and  a  library  club 
supported  by  a  yearly  membership  fee  of  half  a  crown. 
The  number  of  volumes  owned  by  the  library  club 
is  gradually  but  steadily  increasing.  At  present  it  is 
about  three  hundred.  Private  libraries  are  owned  in 
several  homes,  and  an  occasional  piano  is  possessed 
among  the  well-to-do. 

Two  roads  lead  away  from  Portree  to  other  parts 
of  the  island,  one  across  it  westerly  to  a  village  named 
Uig,  another  to  the  town  of  Bradford  on  the  south- 
east coast.  From  these  main  highways  numerous 
bridle-paths  branch  off  to  the  scattered  island  hamlets. 
A  few  trees  grew  about  Portree,  and  patches  of  dwarfed 
and  twisted  birches  make  a  doubtful  struggle  for  exist- 
ence in  some  of  the  moorland  hollows  ;  but  otherwise 
the  country  is  one  of  great,  bare,  wind-swept  hills,  over- 
spread with  a  mingling  of  grass,  bracken,  heather,  and 
wild  flowers.  Pools  with  the  peat  stain  in  them 
mottle  the  boglands,  rude  outcroppings  of  rock  break 
through  the  soil  of  the  slopes,  and  the  mountains  are 
stony  crags  that  look  as  if  the   storms   had  washed 


The  Crofters  of  Skye  193 

away  every  vestige  of  green  life  and  every  grain  of 
soil.  The  streams  course  noisily  down  from  the 
heights  with  many  a  foaming  waterfall,  and  in  the 
lower  valleys  they  run  through  wide  wastes  of  boulders 
and  pebbles,  the  wreckage  of  frequent  fierce  floods. 
A  day  seldom  passes  with  no  rainfall,  for  the  climate 
is  exceedingly  moist.  Yet  the  Isle  is  nevertheless 
healthy,  and  the  average  longevity  is  remarkably  high. 
It  does  not  suffer  from  extreme  cold  in  the  winter,  as 
one  might  imagine  it  would  from  its  northerly  situa- 
tion. Little  snow  falls,  and  the  season  is  chiefly  char- 
acterized by  incessant  fogs  and  showers. 

The  inhabitants  number  less  than  seventeen  thou- 
sand, and  there  are  fewer  of  them  every  year.  This 
decline  has  gone  steadily  on  since  1 840,  when  there  were 
nearly  half  as  many  again  as  there  are  now.  It  is  a 
land  of  crofters,  and  the  crofters  everywhere  in  Scot- 
land have  suffered  in  the  last  fifty  years.  They  make 
up  the  large  majority  of  the  Skye  inhabitants,  yet  they 
control  only  a  small  part  of  the  land.  Three-fourths 
of  the  island  is  occupied  by  twenty-nine  large  grazing 
farms.  On  the  hills  are  pastured  the  farm  sheep,  and 
in  the  glens  are  pastured  the  cattle.  It  needs  few  peo- 
ple to  care  for  them,  and  the  shepherds,  ploughmen, 
and  servants  on  each  farm  will  aggregate  perhaps  eight 
families.  The  friends  of  the  crofters  believe  these  large 
farms  should  be  cut  up,  and  they  affirm  that  the  land 


194  The  Land  of  Heather 

could  support  comfortably  in  small  holdings  five  or 
ten  times  as  many  families  as  it  does  now.  A  hundred 
years  ago  the  people  had  more  stock  on  the  moors, 
they  owned  a  much  greater  number  of  horses,  they 
lived  in  better  and  larger  houses,  and  there  were  some 
hoards  of  money.  When  sheep- farming  came  into 
vogue,  the  crofters  had  to  move  and  huddle  in  little 
moorland  villages,  their  savings  were  wiped  out,  and 
the  hovels  they  were  able  to  build  for  homes  were  very 
poor  affairs.  Many  of  them  are  not  self-supporting 
as  things  are  at  present.  Rents  to  a  very  large  extent 
are  paid  by  sons  and  daughters  who  have  gone  to  the 
mainland  to  work.  There  are  Skye  lads  and  lassies 
in  all  the  large  Scotch  cities,  and  a  Portree  tradesman 
visiting  Oban  or  Glasgow  is  sure  to  meet  some  of 
them,  and  is  equally  sure  to  be  made  the  bearer  of 
money  and  other  presents  to  the  old  folks  on  the 
home  crofts. 

Agitation  in  behalf  of  the  crofters  has  been  going 
on  for  many  years,  and  in  1895  they  were  given  the 
right  to  have  their  rents  fixed  by  a  commission  once 
in  seven  years.  The  immediate  effect  of  this  in  Skye 
was  to  reduce  the  croft  rents  forty  per  cent.  The  great 
trouble  now  is  the  lack  of  liberty  to  acquire  large  hold- 
ings. Another  trouble  is  with  the  proprietors.  About 
twelve  men  own  the  whole  island,  and  nearly  all  of  the 
twelve  live  elsewhere.     Only  a  very  small  proportion 


Feeding  the   Dog 


The  Crofters  of  Skye  195 

of  the  rentals  is  spent  in  Skye  itself,  which  is  thus 
simply  drained  of  whatever  wealth  it  produces.  The 
gentry  themselves  are  poverty-stricken  through  their 
own  extravagance,  as  are  the  Highland  chiefs  in  gen- 
eral. They  are  educated  in  the  south,  and  prefer  to 
live  there  where  they  "  stick  out  their  chests  "  and  try 
to  emulate  the  style  of  the  English  aristocracy,  a  thing 
which  with  their  comparatively  small  income  keeps 
them  chronically  bankrupt.  Perhaps  the  worst  phase 
of  the  matter  is  the  slight  thought  and  attention  they 
give  to  their  tenantry,  who  suffer  from  the  want  of 
sympathetic  and  intelligent  oversight. 

The  crofters  pay  yearly  rentals  of  from  one  to  fif- 
teen pounds.  This  is  simply  ground-rent,  for  they 
themselves  erect  and  own  the  houses  in  which  they 
live.  On  the  smaller  crofts  there  is  only  an  acre  or  so 
under  cultivation,  and  this  is  dug  over  by  hand.  A 
crofter,  however,  who  pays  a  rental  above  ^we  pounds 
is  pretty  sure  to  have  horses  and  a  plough.  Some  of 
them  have  as  much  as  ten  acres  under  cultivation. 
But  few  comprehend  the  philosophy  of  crop  rotation, 
and  through  this  ignorance  the  fertility  of  the  land  is 
destroyed. 

The  average  crofter  keeps  a  cow  and  a  calf,  a  small 
flock  of  hens,  and  a  number  of  sheep.  He  raises  a 
patch  of  oats,  grows  a  little  field  of  hay  and  a  few 
square  rods  of  potatoes ;  and  he  has  the  privilege  of 


196  The  Land  of  Heather 

cutting  peat  on  the  bog.  Oat  cakes,  fish,  potatoes,  and 
milk  are  the  standard  foods,  with  tea,  tobacco,  and  snufF 
among  the  necessary  luxuries.  Ordinarily  the  cows  are 
kept  in  the  houses,  but  a  man  who  has  three  or  four, 
as  do  the  more  prosperous  crofters,  will  have  a  sepa- 
rate byre  for  them.  The  cows  are  extraordinary  look- 
ing creatures  and  seem  much  more  like  wild  beasts  of 
the  forest  or  desert  than  domestic  animals.  They  are 
short  and  broad,  with  long,  shaggy  hair  and  enormous 
wide-spreading  horns.  But  their  looks  belie  them, 
for  they  are  entirely  peaceable,  and  the  breed  is  said 
to  be  a  very  good  one. 

A  great  deal  of  the  farm  labor  falls  to  the  lot  of  the 
women.  I  saw  them  helping  in  the  peat  bogs  and  the 
hay-fields,  and  constantly  met  them  on  the  roads  carry- 
ing heavy  burdens  on  their  backs.  The  crofts  were 
most  of  them  far  from  the  highways  and  distant  from 
market.  Horses  and  carts  were  rare,  and  the  women 
took  the  place  of  beasts  of  burden  to  a  considerable 
extent.  At  the  time  of  year  that  I  was  in  Skye  they 
were  most  apt  to  be  loaded  with  peat,  which  they  car- 
ried in  creels  strapped  to  their  shoulders.  The  creels 
were  deep,  heavy  baskets  of  willow  withes  woven  by 
the  peasants  themselves,  and  they  had  a  capacity  of 
between  one  and  two  bushels.  Sometimes  it  was  no 
less  than  three  miles  from  the  peat  moss  to  the  croft 
village.     In  such  a  case  a  woman  would  stop  at  inter- 


The  Crofters  of  Skye  ipy 

vals  to  sit  and  rest,  and  she  would  relieve  her  shoul- 
ders of  the  loaded  creel  by  letting  it  slip  back  on  a 
convenient  bank  or  dyke.  Many  of  the  women  had 
their  knitting  along,  and  when  they  stopped  to  rest 
would  set  their  needles  flying. 

The  garments  of  the  croft  women  were  as  a  rule 
coarse  and  ragged,  and  a  colored  kerchief  did  instead 
of  a  hat,  or  else  they  went  about  with  their  frouzy 
hair  flying  unprotected.  Occasionally  they  were  bare- 
foot ;  but  they  seldom  go  without  shoes  except  around 
home.  Some,  however,  when  they  have  to  walk  a 
long  distance  carry  their  shoes  in  their  hands  for  the 
sake  of  economy,  to  save  them  from  wear,  and  put 
them  on  just  before  they  reach  the  journey's  end. 
Homespun  enters  largely  into  the  wearing  apparel  of 
the  crofters,  especially  of  the  men.  The  wool  is  carded 
and  spun  in  every  cottage,  and  at  least  one  house  in 
each  village  is  very  certain  to  have  a  loom  in  the  kitchen 
on  which  is  woven  the  cloth  for  the  neighborhood. 

The  life  of  the  crofters  is,  as  a  whole,  sober-hued  and 
laborious ;  and  although  there  are  times  of  recreation, 
care-free  enjoyment  and  self- forgetting  gayety  are  sel- 
dom attained.  Of  the  peasant  pleasures,  I  think  wed- 
dings, funerals,  and  the  semi-annual  communions  are 
chief  These  mean  much  more  than  in  most  places, 
because  of  the  island's  isolation.  Some  of  the  country 
weddings  are  very  picturesque  afi^airs.     At  the  home  of 


198  The  Land  of  Heather 

both  bride  and  groom  a  company  is  made  up,  and  the 
two  bands  start  to  meet  at  a  stated  time,  each  with  a 
piper  leading  off.  After  they  have  joined  forces  they 
proceed  to  the  manse,  where  the  wedding  takes  place. 
Then  they  return  to  the  village  whence  they  came,  the 
two  pipers  piping  on  ahead,  the  newly  married  couple 
following,  and  a  straggling  company  of  relatives  and 
friends  bringing  up  the  rear.  As  the  bride  and  groom 
are  about  to  enter  the  door  of  the  house  which  is  to  be 
their  home,  some  one  standing  in  readiness  breaks  an 
oat  cake,  baked  brittle  for  the  purpose,  over  their  heads. 
This  is  an  old  charm,  supposed  to  bring  the  couples  an 
after  life  of  prosperity  and  plenty.  The  young  people 
in  the  wedding  party  all  scramble  for  pieces  of  the 
broken  bannock,  and  they  sleep  that  night  with  them 
under  their  pillows,  for  in  their  dreams  they  can  discern 
future  husbands  and  wives  aided  by  the  presence  of 
these  bits  of  bannock  just  as  surely  as  we  in  America 
can  with  similarly  disposed  pieces  of  wedding  cake. 

The  evening  of  the  wedding  day  is  devoted  to  con- 
viviality, and  there  are  abundant  refreshments  in  the 
shape  of  sweeties,  cakes,  and  whiskey;  and  songs  are 
sung,  and  the  bagpipes  drone  ever  and  anon  to  lead 
the  dance.  The  humbler  wedding  parties  occasionally 
lack  the  bagpipes,  in  which  emergency,  if  no  other 
musical  instrument  is  to  be  had,  some  one  breathes  the 
melodies  for  the  dancers  through  a  paper-covered  comb. 


The  Crofters  of  Skye  199 

Things  are  still  going  full  blast  at  midnight,  and  not 
infrequently  the  gray  light  of  dawn  is  stealing  out  of  the 
east  before  the  joUification  ends. 

Weddings  are  too  few  and  far  between  to  furnish 
any  very  material  brightness  —  and  the  crofters  are  not 
a  merry  people.  Still,  in  their  way  they  find  an  ele- 
ment of  holiday  recreation  in  the  most  solemn  occa- 
sion, if  it  brings  a  company  of  them  together.  For 
this  reason  even  a  funeral  is  not  without  its  modicum 
of  welcome.  It  makes  a  break  in  the  monotony,  and 
it  never  fails  to  be  largely  attended.  The  people,  as 
they  arrive,  are  provided  with  a  sup  of  whiskey  and 
with  oat  cakes  and  cheese  or  other  light  refreshments. 
After  a  short  service  at  the  house  the  men  form  in 
procession  to  go  to  the  grave.  The  women  remain 
behind.  There  is  no  hearse  in  the  island,  and  the 
coffin,  covered  with  a  black  cloth,  is  carried  on  the 
shoulders  of  six  bearers.  The  distance  is  often  long 
—  sometimes  as  much  as  seven  or  eight  miles  —  and 
the  rule  is  for  the  men  bearing  the  bier  to  give  place 
to  others  about  three  times  to  a  mile. 

Most  notable  among  the  events  of  the  Skye  year  is 
the  summer  communion  season.  It  begins  on  a  Thurs- 
day and  continues  through  the  succeeding  Sunday. 
The  meetings  are  held  out  of  doors,  and  many  of 
the  throngs  which  attend  are  present  all  four  days. 
Curiously  enough,  the  communion  season  is  marked 


200  The  Land  of  Heather 

by  a  great  deal  of  drunkenness.  The  crofters  in  their 
retired  villages,  from  which  they  journey  only  rarely 
to  the  larger  places,  find  the  facilities  for  getting  drink 
very  limited.  Thus,  when  at  home,  they  seldom  taste 
liquor ;  but  once  in  the  town,  even  for  a  religious  pur- 
pose, the  temptation  is  too  much  for  them. 

With  the  exception  of  this  backsliding  at  the  time 
of  the  communion  gatherings  in  the  matter  of  drink, 
the  people  of  Skye  observe  their  religious  days  with 
great  seriousness  and  decorum.  Indeed,  their  regard 
for  the  Sabbath  seemed  to  me  decidedly  puritanic. 
All  work  ceases,  every  one  attends  church,  and  the  in- 
dulgence in  any  form  of  amusement  is  held  to  be  a 
sin.  Nothing  could  have  been  quieter  than  was  Portree 
in  the  early  hours  of  the  Sunday  I  was  there ;  but 
when  the  little  bells  of  the  village  churches  began  to 
ring  at  a  quarter  to  eleven,  there  was  a  change.  For 
fifteen  minutes  the  bells  kept  up  an  incessant  ding- 
dong,  and  during  all  this  time  the  town  walks  were 
noisy  with  the  clack  of  heavy  shoes  moving  church- 
ward. I  joined  the  throng  presently,  and  wended  my 
way  to  the  Free  Kirk  on  the  Square.  It  was  a  big 
barn  of  a  building,  whose  lack  of  decoration  without 
was  echoed  by  the  plain  severity  of  the  interior.  A 
large  and  attentive  audience  filled  the  pews.  What 
most  impressed  me  about  them  at  first  thought  was 
their  decidedly  peaty  odor.     Evidently  many  of  the 


A   Rider 


The  Crofters  of  Skye  201 

worshippers  came  from  the  smoky  cabins  of  the 
crofters,  though  I  would  not  have  recognized  them  as 
belonging  to  this  class  by  their  dress.  They  were, 
in  fact,  so  well  clad  as  to  be  quite  transformed.  I 
learned  afterward  that  the  peasants,  however  poor, 
consider  an  outfit  of  modern  and  presentable  Sab- 
bath garments  a  necessity,  and  they  will  sacrifice  a 
great  deal  in  other  directions  rather  than  do  without 
them. 

The  Free  Kirk  service  was  entirely  in  Gaelic,  and  I 
was  not  much  enlightened  by  what  I  heard.  In  front 
of  the  pulpit  sat  the  precentor,  a  tall,  gray  man,  who, 
when  a  psalm  was  to  be  sung,  stood  before  us  and  led 
the  singing.  He  would  first  read  a  line  in  a  chanting 
monotone,  and  then  every  one  would  fall  in  and  sing  it. 
Then  he  would  read  another  line,  that  would  be  sung, 
and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  psalm.  The  music  was 
very  simple,  and  I  thought  it  rather  formless  —  not 
much  more  than  a  waiHng  up  and  down,  with  little 
melody  that  I  could  discover.  However,  perhaps  I 
could  not  judge,  for  those  pauses  between  lines  must 
have  tended  to  dissipate  the  melody  pretty  thoroughly. 
Excepting  the  precentor,  the  audience  sat  during  the 
singing,  but  we  all  rose  and  remained  standing  through 
the  prayers. 

The  service  lasted  nearly  two  hours.  In  the  after- 
noon there  was  a  second  service,  and  in  the  evening  a 


202  The  Land  of  Heather 

third.  That  of  the  afternoon  was  in  English,  and 
a  very  different  congregation  gathered  then,  largely 
made  up  of  tradespeople,  but  they  had  the  same 
preacher.  A  choir  sat  in  front  of  the  pulpit  where 
before  had  been  the  lonely  precentor.  I  suggested  to 
one  of  the  townsmen  that  an  organ  would  be  a  still 
farther  improvement.  But  he  said  that  the  choir  itself 
was  a  great  innovation,  and  that  the  large  majority  of 
the  worshippers  would  decidedly  object  to  an  organ. 
I  was  not  surprised,  for  I  had  found  the  piano  at  my 
lodging-place  shut  and  locked  that  morning,  and  had 
been  informed  by  the  maid  that  the  landlady  objected 
to  having  it  played  on  Sunday,  and  I  had  already 
drawn  the  conclusion  that  the  sound  of  a  musical 
instrument  was  an  abomination  in  the  ears  of  the  peo- 
ple of  Skye  on  the  Sabbath. 

The  Scotch  national  costume  was  more  in  fashion 
among  the  men  of  Portree  than  in  any  town  I  had 
visited.  A  number  of  the  young  men  wore  their 
kilts  to  church,  and  the  leading  merchant  of  the  place 
was  especially  conspicuous  in  the  garb  of  a  Highland 
chieftain.  The  gay  colors,  the  sporran  hanging  down 
in  front,  the  jaunty  cap,  and  the  bare  knees  made  him 
look  quite  romantic,  while  a  dirk  stuck  in  his  right 
sock  gave  him  a  touch  of  the  savage. 

One  of  the  villages  of  the  crofters  was  built  along 
the  shore  on  the  borders  of  Portree.     No  road  led  to 


The  Crofters  of  Skye    -  203 

It,  and  footpaths  served  as  its  only  connection  with  the 
highway  a  quarter  of  a  mile  up  the  hill.  The  slope 
between  the  cottages  and  the  road  was  cut  up  into  long 
strips,  and  here  the  crofters  raised  their  crops.  A  few 
of  the  houses  were  whitewashed,  had  chimneys,  and 
looked  fairly  comfortable,  but  most  had  walls  of 
rough  stone  chinked  with  earth,  and  roofs  of  thatch 
protected  from  the  onslaught  of  the  gales  by  a  criss- 
crossing of  cords,  or  perchance  by  an  old  fish-net. 
Frequently  the  thatch  had  patches  of  grass  and  weeds 
growing  on  it,  and  I  saw  one  roof  so  covered  with 
rank  herbage  that  it  had  the  appearance  as  if  the 
house  inmates  were  raising  a  crop  there.  Numerous 
families  of  chickens  and  ducks  were  picking  about  the 
rocks  of  the  beach  or  scratching  out  a  living  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  cottages.  Sometimes  the  hen- 
house would  be  a  dark  little  hovel  hugging  the  side 
of  the  cottage,  sometimes  a  boat  turned  bottom  up- 
ward. There  was  much  refuse  about  the  house  fronts, 
and  the  beach  was  strewn  with  broken  clam  shells.  A 
narrow,  irregular  path,  just  above  high-water  mark, 
linked  the  houses  together.  It  was  very  rough  and 
muddy,  and  it  turned  aside  now  and  then  to  approach 
one  of  the  many  springs  that  furnished  water  for  the 
hamlet.  The  springs  were  just  as  nature  made  them, 
except  that  they  had  been  rimmed  around  with  a  few 
stones  to  form  shallow  basins. 


204  The  Land  of  Heather 

The  poorer  of  the  croft  homes  are  about  as  humble 
as  they  well  could  be.  The  floors  are  of  hard- 
packed  earth,  and  the  fire  is  in  the  middle  of  the 
kitchen  on  a  rude  platform  of  stones  six  or  eight 
inches  high.  A  hole  in  the  thatch  overhead  is  the 
only  apology  for  a  chimney.  In  replenishing  the  fire 
the  embers  are  poked  together  and  fresh  peats  are 
set  up  on  end  around  the  hot  coals.  A  rope  or  long 
pole  fastened  up  above  to  the  ridgepole  reaches  down, 
so  that  pots  can  be  hung  over  the  fire  on  hooks  at  its 
lower  end.  The  tea-kettle  is  kept  warm  by  being  set 
on  the  hot  stones  a  Httle  to  one  side.  Such  a  kitchen 
has  no  ceiling,  but  is  open  to  the  rafters  and  crooked 
stringers  of  the  roof,  which  are  as  black  as  midnight 
with  incrustations  and  hangings  of  grime  and  soot. 
The  furniture  is  meagre,  cheap,  and  shaky.  There  are 
a  few  chairs  that  have  seen  better  days  and  one  or  two 
low-backed  settles  that  in  the  idle  spells  are  much 
of  the  time  "  full  of  mens,"  to  quote  the  expression 
of  a  peasant  woman.  The  only  other  prominent  fea- 
tures are  a  chest,  a  spinning-wheel,  and  a  small  un- 
steady dresser  with  a  row  or  two  of  dishes  displayed 
on  its  racks.  I  have  seen  more  ornamentation  and 
attention  to  the  amenities  of  Hfe  in  some  of  our 
American  barns  than  in  these  homes  of  the  crofters. 
They  are  simply  hovels  to  exist  in. 

A  number  of  Hnes  run  across  the  kitchen  just  high 


The  Crofters  of  Skye  205 

enough  to  miss  the  heads  of  persons  stepping  around 
below.  These  are  used  for  various  domestic  purposes, 
but  more  particularly  to  hang  dried  fish  on.  Win- 
dows in  the  croft  homes  are  few  and  small,  and  it  sel- 
dom happens  that  a  room  has  more  than  one.  The 
door  is  usually  open  in  mild  weather  to  give  the  smoke 
an  added  means  of  egress,  though  this  does  not  clear, 
but  only  mitigates,  the  heaviness  of  the  atmosphere. 
The  vapors  of  the  fire  penetrate  and  saturate  every- 
thing. They  affect  distinctly  the  household  eatables, 
both  to  taste  and  smell,  and  they  insinuate  themselves 
in  every  fabric  and  article  of  apparel,  so  that  the 
crofters  always  carry  about  with  them  that  heavy  aroma 
of  the  peat.  Let  one  of  them  sit  in  the  kitchen  of  a 
town  residence  long  enough  to  have  a  friendly  cup  of 
tea  with  the  cook,  and  the  peat  flavor  is  apparent  all 
over  the  house. 

You  might  think  the  peasants  would  get  so  used  to 
the  smoke  as  not  to  mind  it,  but  this  is  not  the  case. 
The  women,  especially,  acknowledge  to  feeling  a  sick 
turn  when  on  dull  days  the  smoke  lies  inside,  and  it 
is  that,  not  less  than  the  crowded  discomfort  of  the 
interior,  which  drives  them  to  do  so  much  of  their  spin- 
ning outside  by  the  house-walls,  their  knitting  on  the 
near  banks,  and  their  washing  in  the  streams. 

In  one  of  the  houses  where  I  stopped  an  old  woman 
showed    me    photographs    of   two    intelligent-looking 


2o6  The  Land  of  Heather 

young  men  whom  she  said  were  her  sons,  now  in  Aus- 
tralia. All  her  five  children  had  left  the  island  save 
one  daughter,  a  cripple  who  was  then  sitting  by  the 
fire,  taking  snuff.  The  old  woman  was  at  work  card- 
ing wool,  and  many  skeins  of  yellow  yarn  were  hung 
on  the  wall  behind  her.  I  was  having  a  very  agreeable 
visit,  but  after  she  had  exhibited  her  treasured  photo- 
graphs she  put  fresh  peats  on  the  fire,  and  the  smoke 
became  so  stifling  I  hastened  to  escape. 

This  hamlet  by  the  shore  was  inhabited  by  folks 
who  depended  largely  on  fishing  for  their  subsistence. 
Two  miles  inland  was  a  more  strictly  farming  com- 
munity which  I  one  day  visited.  On  the  way  to  it  I 
met  several  men  leading  panniered  ponies.  They  were 
going  to  Portree  to  get  goods  brought  by  the  steamer 
and  carry  them  back  into  the  country.  I  followed  a 
narrow  road  that  wound  along  over  the  moors.  This 
road  had  been  made  only  about  a  year.  Previously 
there  had  been  naught  but  a  faintly  marked  path. 
The  village  to  which  I  journeyed  was  a  scattering  of 
low,  thatched  huts,  so  earthy  and  rough  they  seemed 
much  like  boulders  of  rock  sticking  up  through  the 
soil.  They  were  planted  at  random  on  the  hillsides 
and  in  the  hollows,  and  the  distant  view  of  the  crofts, 
with  the  patchwork  of  their  small  fields,  was  rather 
attractive. 

I    went    up    an    almost    indistinguishable    footway 


Resting   on   a  Dyke 


The  Crofters  of  Skye  207 

through  a  spongy  bog  to  a  house,  where  a  woman  was 
making  a  peatstack  in  the  yard.  She  had  been  bring- 
ing the  peats  from  one  of  the  black  cuttings  on  the 
moor,  and  her  heavy  creel  lay  near  by  on  the  ground. 
I  looked  in  at  the  door  of  the  woman's  house,  and  saw 
a  cow  and  a  calf  in  the  dusky  interior  of  an  apartment 
only  separated  from  the  family  living-room  by  a  wooden 
partition. 

At  the  next  house  an  old  man,  smoking  a  short  pipe, 
and  a  barefoot  woman  were  sitting  talking  on  a  dyke. 
They  had  not  much  command  of  any  language  save 
the  Gaelic,  but  we  managed  to  hold  a  broken  conver- 
sation. Presently  the  woman  invited  me  to  have  a 
glass  of  milk,  and  led  the  way  to  the  house.  The 
entrance  was  at  the  end,  and  admitted  me  first  to  the 
byre.  The  footing  was  not  all  it  should  be  here,  and 
the  woman  sprinkled  down  some  heather  to  enable  me 
to  get  safely  across  the  mire  to  the  kitchen  beyond. 
The  supply  of  light  for  this  latter  room  all  came  from 
a  tiny,  grime-darkened  window  in  the  roof  and  from 
the  distant  outer  door.  It  was  like  being  in  a  cave, 
and  for  a  time  I  could  hardly  see.  The  woman  wiped 
clean  a  place  on  a  settle  for  me  to  sit,  washed  a  soiled 
glass,  and  went  into  a  tiny  closet  of  a  bedroom  and 
brought  out  a  bowl  of  milk.  The  milk  was  rich  but 
peaty,  and,  in  the  dirt  and  gloom  of  the  surroundings, 
not  very  palatable. 


2o8  The  Land  of  Heather 

The  crofters  are  sadly  handicapped  by  the  poverty 
and  forlornness  of  their  environment,  but  they  have 
marked  natural  capability,  and  many  of  the  young 
people  have  in  other  lands  achieved  wealth  and  even 
greatness.  One  influence  which  helped  in  the  past 
to  sharpen  the  croft  wits  was  what  was  known  as 
the  "  caly,"  a  sort  of  open  meeting  for  argument, 
songs,  and  stories.  The  "  caly  "  was  held  in  the  cot- 
tage living-rooms,  one  night  at  one  house  and  another 
night  at  some  other  house.  The  men  when  they 
came  in  seated  themselves  in  a  circle  about  the  fire. 
The  chairman,  who  was  always  the  man  of  the  house, 
started  the  evening's  entertainment  by  relating  a  story 
or  experience,  or  by  singing  a  song.  Then  each  man 
in  turn  to  the  right  would  follow  suit.  In  winter  the 
merriment  frequently  continued  all  night.  Patriotism 
and  a  martial  sentiment  were  cultivated,  and  the  par- 
ticipants acquired  much  useful  information.  But  at 
length  the  ministers  began  to  oppose  the  caly  on  the 
ground  that  there  was  too  strong  a  tendency  to  tell 
profane  stories,  and  now  the  caly  is  wholly  extinct. 

Of  the  future  of  the  crofters  I  cannot  say  from  what 
I  saw  and  heard  of  them  that  it  appears  to  hold  much 
brightness.  Nature  itself  in  that  remote  and  barren 
northern  island  is  against  them  ;  yet  the  law  has  done 
something  of  late  in  alleviating  their  condition,  and 
may  do  more.     Perhaps  the  most  hopeful  sign  is  the 


The  Crofters  of  Skye 


209 


tendency  shown  to  improve  their  homes.  They  are 
abandoning  their  primeval  fireplaces,  and  building 
chimneys,  and  some  of  the  more  aspiring  have  plas- 
tered their  house-walls  and  replaced  with  slate  the 
roofs  of  mouldering  thatch.  This  has  awakened  a 
spirit  of  emulation,  and  many  others  will  follow  the 
example  set  them  as  soon  as  they  can  gather  the 
means. 


A  Highland  Cow 


XI 


A    COUNTRY    SCHOOL 


I  HAD  wandered  into  a  high- 
land glen  girdled  about  with 
wild  heather-clad  ridges.  In 
the  depths  of  the  valley  a  little 
river  looped  its  way  along,  help- 
ing to  make  fertile  the  bordering 
farm  lands,  and  the  heart  of  the 
glen  with  its  emerald  meadows 
and  the  silvery  glint  of  the  stream 
was  pleasant  to  look  on  ;  but  the 
region,  as  a  whole,  was  too  tree- 
less to  attract,  while  the  brown, 
undulating  hills  were  so  sombre  as 
to  be  almost  forbidding.  It  is  true 
the  district  was  not  without  a  cer- 
tain rude  kind  of  beauty,  and  the 
hills  had  about  them  a  good  deal 
of  elemental  grandeur,  yet  to  live  the  year  through  in 
their  big,  barren  presence  I  fancied  must  be  sobering 
and  oppressive. 

2IO 


A  BIrd's-nest  in  the 
Hedge 


A  Country  School  211 

Probably  those  born  among  them  did  not  share 
this  feeling,  for  the  glen  did  not  lack  inhabitants. 
There  were  farmhouses  and  now  and  then  the  humble 
dwelHng  of  a  cotter  or  a  laborer.  One  would  expect 
in  a  region  so  lonely  that  the  homes  would  gather  in 
clusters  for  companionship ;  but  it  was  not  so  here, 
and  neighbors  were  half  a  mile  or  more  apart.  Even 
the  schoolhouse,  midway  on  the  long  valley  highway, 
stood  soHtary  like  the  rest,  and  was  almost  as  much 
isolated  from  neighbors  as  it  was  from  the  great  world 
that  lay  beyond  the  encompassing  hills. 

I  entered  the  glen  wholly  intent  on  pushing  up  the 
valley  and  enjoying  the  unfolding  of  the  landscape 
which  took  on  a  new  aspect  with  every  turn  of  the 
road.  But  when  I  reached  the  schoolhouse  I  paused. 
What  kind  of  a  school  would  be  kept  here,  I  asked ; 
what  sort  of  a  person  would  the  teacher  be,  and  what 
the  nature  of  the  scholars  ?  I  turned  into  the  school- 
yard. 

It  was  a  long,  narrow  yard  surrounded  by  a  high 
stone  wall.  There  was  some  greenness  near  the  road, 
but  the  grass  had  been  much  trampled,  and  the  play- 
ground grew  dustier  and  more  gritty  as  I  walked  down 
it,  till  near  the  school  building  naught  was  left  but 
bare  earth.  At  that  end  of  the  yard  stood  a  pump, 
around  which  the  ground  was  hardened  and  worn 
more  than  anywhere  else.     This  seemed  to  attest  the 


212  The  Land  of  Heather 

great  fascination  water  has  for  children,  both  for  inter- 
nal thirst  and  external  sport.  One  would  think  there 
were  lingering  impulses  in  them  descended  from  some 
far-back  fishy  ancestors. 

The  schoolhouse  had  masonry  walls  spatterdashed 
with  a  mixture  of  whitewash  and  gravel,  and  it  had 
diamond-paned  windows  that  gave  it  something  the 
look  of  a  tiny  church.  But  this  churchly  illusion  was 
lost  in  the  near  view,  for  then  I  saw  that  the  master*s 
dwelling  was  joined  to  it  at  the  back,  and  that  a  gate 
in  a  rear  corner  of  the  playground  opened  on  a  path 
leading  to  his  house  door. 

It  was  as  yet  too  early  in  the  morning  for  school  to 
begin,  and  at  first  I  thought  the  place  was  deserted ; 
but  when  I  looked  inside,  I  discerned  with  some  diffi- 
culty a  little  girl  at  the  far  end  of  the  schoolroom  half 
concealed  in  the  dust  raised  by  a  vigorous  plying  of 
the  broom.  She  had  paused  when  she  saw  a  stranger 
in  the  doorway.  I  spoke  with  her,  and  learned  that 
she  was  the  master's  daughter,  and  then  I  asked  to  see 
her  father.  She  said  he  was  down  in  the  meadow  by 
the  river,  and  without  more  ado  dropped  her  broom 
and  trotted  away,  yelHng,  to  find  him.  I  am  afraid 
this  little  earthquake  of  a  daughter  chasing  and  calUng 
for  him  so  vociferously  scared  the  man,  for  it  was 
barely  a  minute  before  he  came  running  breathless  up 
the  hill  back  of  the  schoolhouse  and  jumped  through 


A  Country  School  213 

a  gap  in  the  wall  as  excitedly  as  if  he  had  been  going 
to  a  fire.  I  thought  he  might  be  disappointed  when 
he  found  only  me  there,  but  his  haste  apparently  only 
meant  cordiaUty.  Probably  a  visitor  was  a  rarity  to 
be  made  the  most  of. 

The  master  was  a  little  man,  rather  above  forty 
years  of  age,  with  a  quick  and  nervous  manner  that 
was  the  more  pronounced  because  of  his  anxiety  to 
do  the  honors  of  host  with  credit :  and  no  one  could 
have  been  kinder  or  have  done  more  to  make  my  stay 
pleasant.  By  the  time  I  had  done  introducing  myself 
the  scholars  began  to  arrive,  and  presently  the  master 
put  aside  his  broad-brimmed  gray  hat  and  called  his 
pupils  who  were  at  their  games  in  the  dusty  yard  by 
shouting  from  the  doorway,  "  Come  away,  then  !  "  a 
command  which  he  supplemented  with  a  shrill  whistle. 

The  schoolroom  seemed  very  small  and  crowded 
when  all  the  scholars  were  in.  It  was  lighted  by  four 
large  windows.  A  continuous  desk  ran  the  whole 
length  of  the  west  wall,  and  turning  the  corner  ex- 
tended as  far  as  the  master's  platform.  This  desk  was 
right  against  the  sides  of  the  room  like  a  long  shelf, 
and  the  children  who  sat  on  the  backless  bench  that 
paralleled  it  faced  away  from  the  rest  of  the  school 
toward  the  wall.  To  get  to  their  seats  on  this  bench 
the  children  usually  either  stepped  over  or  sat  down 
and    whirled.      The    boys  were    some    of  them  very 


214  The  Land  of  Heather 

acrobatic  in  getting  their  heels  over  the  obstructing 
bench.  On  the  other  hand,  some  of  the  girls  went 
to  the  opposite  extreme  and  waddled  mildly  over  on 
their  knees. 

Most  of  the  schoolroom  floor  space  was  filled  with 
a  row  of  long  movable  desks,  each  with  an  accompany- 
ing bench.  The  scholars  on  the  rear  seat  had  nothing 
but  vacancy  to  lean  against,  but  the  others  had  a  sharp- 
cornered  desk  at  their  backs.  At  the  far  end  of  the 
room  sat  the  babies  of  the  school  —  half  a  dozen  little 
innocents  on  a  bench  snug  against  the  wall  with  a  row 
of  hooks  above  hung  full  of  hats  and  cloaks.  What 
weary  times  those  little  martyrs  must  have,  I  thought, 
sitting  there  with  heels  dangling  in  air  through  the 
long  school  hours.  I  could  see  but  one  alleviation  — 
the  bench  was  against  the  wall,  and  if  its  occupants 
went  to  sleep  and  tumbled  ofl^,  they  could  not  fall 
backwards. 

None  of  the  school  furniture  had  ever  been  painted, 
and  the  white  plaster  of  the  walls  had  never  been 
papered.  The  only  wall  decorations  were  two  large 
squares  of  blackboard  suspended  from  nails,  several 
good-sized  maps,  and  a  tonic-sol-fa  chart.  The  room 
was  heated  by  a  small  fireplace  in  which  peat  was 
burned.  If  they  ever  had  a  touch  of  New  England 
weather  in  their  winters,  the  children  were  bound  to 
suffer.     But  the   master  considered    the  schoolhouse 


A  Country  School  215 

on  the  whole  a  very  good  one  —  certainly  it  was  an 
improvement  on  the  one  in  which  he  got  his  own 
early  schooling.  That  had  a  floor  of  dirt,  and  he  de- 
scribed the  fascinated  interest  with  which  he  used  to 
watch  the  angleworms  boring  up  out  of  the  earth  in 
school-time. 

I  had  been  somewhat  disturbed  when  I  went  inside 
the  schoolhouse  with  the  master,  following  the  children 
whom  he  had  summoned  from  their  games  in  the  yard, 
to  find  that  the  schoolroom  was  entirely  chairless. 
There  was  not  even  a  chair  for  the  teacher,  and  I  was 
preparing  to  sit  on  one  of  the  benches  with  the 
scholars  when  he  stopped  me,  and  sent  a  boy  to  the 
house  for  a  chair.  I  was  curious  to  learn  what  he 
himself  did  for  a  seat.  So  far  as  I  observed,  he  made 
his  desk  on  the  platform  serve.  It  was  a  boxy  little 
affair,  with  a  tall  bottle  of  ink  and  a  pile  of  copy- 
books on  the  floor  underneath.  The  master  had 
several  different  ways  of  sitting  down  on  this  desk, 
and  sometimes  he  half  lay  down  on  it.  He  was  en- 
tirely unconventional. 

The  first  thing  the  teacher  did,  after  I  had  my  chair 
and  the  scholars  were  in  their  places,  was  to  say  in  his 
sudden,  explosive  way,  "  Stand,  then  !  "  The  children 
stood  and  repeated  the  Lord's  prayer  in  unison,  and  at 
the  close  the  master  said,  "Sit,  then."  Usually  the 
session  began  with   the  singing  of  a   hymn,  but  the 


2i6  The  Land  of  Heather 

dominie  explained  that  as  several  of  his  best  singers 
were  absent,  he  did  not  feel  like  having  the  singing  be- 
fore a  stranger. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  prayer  he  asked  several 
scholars  to  repeat  certain  of  the  commandmentSj  and 
tell  what  was  meant  by  them,  and  the  whole  hour 
from  nine  to  ten  was  spent  in  these  and  other  exer- 
cises of  a  distinctly  religious  character.  The  master 
said  it  was  the  hour  of  "  the  conscience  clause."  At- 
tendance was  not  compulsory,  and  any  parents  who 
chose  could  keep  their  children  out  till  it  was  over. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  was  a  privilege  rarely  taken 
advantage  of  On  the  first  four  days  of  the  week 
much  of  the  hour  was  spent  in  Bible  reading,  but  on 
Friday  the  time  was  devoted  to  studying  the  Shorter 
Westminster  Catechism. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  master  called  off  the  thirty-six 
names  he  had  on  his  roll,  and  then  he  had  his  oldest 
class  read  Sir  Walter  Scott's  poem,  "  The  Battle  of 
Flodden."  This  class  of  seniors,  which  the  master 
spoke  of  as  "The  Sixth  Standard"  had  sat,  while 
reciting,  in  the  corner  next  the  platform,  with  their 
backs  against  the  continuous  wall-desk.  The  reading 
was  noteworthy  chiefly  for  its  remarkable  lack  of 
expression.  Every  child  kept  the  same  key  of  voice 
right  through,  and  only  used  punctuation  marks  to 
catch  breath.     One  would  think  the  poem  itself  con- 


A  Country  School  217 

veyed  no  meaning  to  their  minds,  and  that  they  were 
simply  reciting  a  list  of  words.  After  the  reading  the 
master  put  some  questions  to  the  class,  beginning  with, 
"  Where  is  Flodden  ?  "  If  the  ones  questioned  hesi- 
tated, he  hastened  their  wits  by  exclaiming,  "  Come  on, 
now  ! 

Besides  geographical  and  historical  questions  he 
asked  meanings  of  words,  had  the  scholars  parse  and 
spell,  and  sometimes  called  for  the  Latin  derivation  of 
a  word.  When  he  had  doubts  as  to  whether  the  chil- 
dren were  going  to  answer,  he  would  give  a  partial 
reply  himself,  as,  for  instance,  when  he  asked,  "  What 
is  the  meaning  of  volley  ?  "  —  pause  —  "  What  is  it, 
Jessie?"  —  anxious  silence  which  the  master  breaks 
by  saying,  "  a  great  many  guns  "  —  he  Hngered  over 
every  word  in  the  hope  that  the  girl  would  catch  the 
cue  —  "going  off  at  the  same  t — " 

"  Time,"  says  Jessie,  quickly,  and  that  passed  for  an 
answer.  The  scholars  picked  the  final  word  of  an 
answer  off  the  master's  tongue  in  that  way  again  and 
again,  and  he  would  dwell  on  the  first  letter  of  the 
key-word  just  as  long  as  he  could  if  the  response  was 
still  delayed,  and  lean  forward  in  keen  anxiety  that  the 
scholar  should  not  force  him  to  pronounce  it  all. 
Usually  his  efforts  met  with  a  prompt  reward,  and  he 
could  settle  back  in  relief  and  in  pride  over  his  pupils' 
ability. 


21 8  The  Land  of  Heather 

The  recitation  was  brought  to  an  end  by  the  follow- 
ing explanation  from  the  schoolmaster :  "  King  James 
of  Scotland,"  said  he,  "  fought  this  battle  of  Flodden 
just  to  please  the  Queen  of  France,  and  he  lost  his 
life  in  it  —  lost  his  life  to  please  a  woman!  There's 
many  a  man  more  has  lost  his  life  that  same  way,  hey  ? " 

Now  the  teacher  dismissed  the  senior  class  and  then 
he  called  out,  "  Come  up,  the  Fifth  Standard."  The 
Fifths,  having  seated  themselves  in  the  vacated  corner, 
read  a  prose  piece  about  the  Chinese  city  of  Pekin  in  the 
same  meaningless  monotone  that  the  preceding  class  had 
used.  One  feature  of  the  lesson  was  a  description  of  "  a 
scribe  in  the  street  writing  a  letter  for  a  love-sick  swain," 
and  when  he  finished  writing  it,  he  had  read  it  aloud  to 
the  bystanders.  "  You  wouldna  care  to  hae  your  love- 
letters  read  that  way ! "  was  the  master's  comment 
to  his  class.  The  children  smiled  as  if  they  thought 
not. 

The  scholars  who  were  not  in  the  class  reciting 
talked  together,  walked  around  the  room  on  errands 
of  business  or  pleasure,  and  were  sometimes  mischiev- 
ous and  heedlessly  noisy.  So  great  was  the  pande- 
monium that  the  master  had  me  move  my  chair  closer 
to  the  reciting  class  that  I  might  hear  them  better 
through  the  din.  When  there  came  a  sound  of  wheels 
from  the  highway  every  one  looked  out,  and  word  was 
passed  around  as  to  who  it  was  that  had  driven  by. 


A  Country  School  219 

In  the  midst  of  the  session  the  sanitary  inspector 
called.  He  is  a  government  official  who  comes  around 
once  or  twice  a  year,  calling  at  every  house  to  see 
whether  sinks  and  drains  and  other  details  about  build- 
ings that  affect  health  are  all  right.  He  looks  through 
the  rooms  upstairs  and  downstairs,  and  if  people  do  not 
keep  their  dwellings  in  repair,  or  crowd  too  many  per- 
sons in  too  few  rooms,  or  if  they  have  stagnant  pools 
close  about  the  house,  he  tells  them  to  alter  things. 
The  benefits  of  such  oversight  when  the  investigation 
is  competent  and  faithful  are  obvious,  and  it  would 
seem  as  if  the  same  sort  of  supervision  in  the  interests 
of  health  might  well  be  introduced  in  our  own  country. 
The  inspector's  only  comment  on  the  schoolhouse  was 
that  it  leaked  wind  badly. 

Another  interruption  was  caused  by  the  arrival  of  a 
cart  from  down  the  valley,  that  carried  cakes  and  sweets. 
One  of  the  girls  immediately  rose  and  made  a  tour  of 
the  schoolroom,  collecting  coppers  from  those  who 
wanted  some  of  the  toothsome  wares  they  knew  were 
to  be  had  from  the  pedler  waiting  in  the  roadway. 
The  girl  acting  as  agent  for  her  companions  went  out, 
did  the  trading  with  the  man  who  drove  the  cart,  and 
then  hastened  back  to  distribute  the  goods  she  had 
bought  through  the  schoolroom.  All  this  made  no 
appreciable  interruption  in  the  school  routine,  and  was 
plainly  prearranged  and  understood  by  all  parties. 


220  The  Land  of  Heather 

The  morning  session  of  school  was  very  long.  The 
hour  allowed  for  dinner  did  not  begin  till  one  o'clock, 
and  when  the  master  about  twelve  let  the  children  out 
to  play,  I  signified  my  intention  to  leave.  But  he 
would  not  hear  to  it  unless  I  came  to  the  house  first 
and  had  a  bottle  of  ale  with  him.  I  agreed,  as  far  as 
going  to  the  house  was  concerned,  but  the  ale  he 
drank  himself.  In  the  fear  that  I  had  refused  because 
ale  was  not  strong  enough,  he  proposed  to  set  out 
whiskey  for  me,  and  when  that,  too,  failed  to  prove  a 
basis  of  good  fellowship,  he  asked  his  wife  to  bring  a 
glass  of  milk  and  a  plate  of  biscuit  and  cheese. 

We  chatted  indoors  for  a  time,  and  then  he  took  me 
into  his  garden  and  talked  of  its  various  flowers,  shrubs, 
and  vegetables,  and  the  richness  of  the  heather  honey 
that  his  bees  made.  When  at  length  I  said  "  good-by," 
I  left  him  with  real  regret,  his  hospitality  was  so  hearty, 
and  he  was  so  anxious  all  through  to  make  my  stay 
pleasant.  He  was  an  easy-going  little  man,  and  his 
teaching  was  nothing  to  boast  of  Indeed,  the  school 
had  the  air  of  a  rather  disorderly  family,  and  the  master 
seemed  more  like  an  older  child  in  control  than  the 
middle-aged  man  that  he  was,  making  teaching  in  this 
lonely  Highland  valley  his  life-work.  Still,  whatever 
the  teacher's  faults,  his  heart  was  right,  and  there  was 
something  about  the  school  and  its  ways  in  their  un- 
conventional simplicity  that  attracted  one. 


A  Country  School 


221 


I  shall  probably  never  see  that  out-of-the-way  glen 
again,  nor  ever  hear  from  it,  but  I  shall  never  forget 
the  kindly  master  and  his  little  white  schoolhouse,  with 
the  big  brown  hills  frowning  and  glooming  down  on 
it  with  every  passing  cloud-shadow. 


A  Wee  Brig  ower  a  Burnie.** 


XII 


THE    SABBATH    AND    THE    KIRKS 


A  Garden  Rose 


o 


F  the  several  leading 
religious  denomina- 
tions in  Scotland, 
that  known  as  the  Free  Kirk 
possessed  for  me  the  greatest 
attraction.  I  must,  however, 
confess  I  am  only  familiar 
with  religious  Scotland  as  a 
stronghold  of  Presby  terianism. 
There  were  three  branches  of 
this  faith  —  the  Established 
Kirk,  the' U.P.'s'  or  United 
Presbyterians,  and  the  Free 
Kirk.  But  the  last  seemed  to 
have  the  most  honest  inde- 
pendence, vitality,  and  enter- 


prise^ 


and    to    draw    to    its 


pulpit,  as  a  rule,  the  strongest  and  most  original  men. 
As  typical  a  Free  Kirk  as  any  which  I  attended  was 
one  in  a  certain  glen  of  the  southern  Highlands.     The 


The  Sabbath  and  the  Kirks  223 

building  was  of  stone,  very  plain,  and  of  modest  size. 
In  these  things  it  was  like  most  country  churches ;  but 
the  interior  was  not  so  characteristic,  for  it  had  been 
recently  modernized,  and  had  an  inclined  floor  and 
steam  heat.  Still,  the  pews  were  uncushioned,  and 
there  was  no  organ.  Indeed,  organs  are  almost  never 
found  in  rustic  houses  of  worship,  and  are  rarities  even 
in  the  large  towns.  Service  was  supposed  to  begin  at 
half-past  eleven,  but  it  was  customary  to  allow  sctme 
leisurely  minutes  of  grace  for  the  benefit  of  the  be- 
lated. Shortly  before  the  appointed  hour,  the  Httle 
bell  in  the  kirk  cupola  commenced  a  hurried  tinkling, 
and  the  village  ways,  which  hitherto  had  been  very 
quiet  and  deserted,  were  enlivened  by  groups  of  so- 
berly dressed  worshippers  faring  on  foot  toward  the 
church.  On  arriving  at  the  edifice  it  was  to  be 
noticed  that  the  men  were  in  no  haste  to  go  inside, 
but  Hngered  at  the  kirk  gate  or  around  the  porch 
and  visited.  When  the  time  for  service  came,  and 
the  bell  ceased  ringing,  the  outside  loiterers  would 
come  stamping  in.  It  was  no  wonder  that  their  tread 
was  emphatic,  for  their  shoes  were  exceedingly  sturdy, 
and  the  soles  were  well  studded  with  heavy-headed 
nails.  A  pair  of  men's  "  strong-wearing  boots  "  would 
weigh  six  pounds,  and  the  projecting  iron  pegs  num- 
ber two  hundred  or  more  in  each. 

The  minister  did  not  appear  until  the  congregation, 


224  The  Land  of  Heather 

including  late  comers,  were  all  in  the  pews.  Then  the 
door  at  the  rear  of  the  kirk  opened,  and  he  came  rust- 
ling down  the  aisle  in  his  robes.  In  front  of  the  pul- 
pit was  an  open  space  with  a  railing  around  it.  There 
sat  the  members  of  the  choir.  Their  leader,  or  "  pre- 
centor," gave  them  the  key-note  when  they  were  about 
to  sing,  and  he  beat  time.  Nearly  every  one  in  the 
congregation  joined  in  the  hymns,  and  the  music  was 
harmonious  and  pleasing,  and  the  lack  of  an  organ  did 
not  seem  serious.  The  worshippers  all  had  Bibles,  and 
looked  up  the  minister's  texts  and  followed  him  in  his 
Scripture  readings  with  great  faithfulness.  There  were 
two  sermons,  a  short,  simple  one  for  the  children,  and 
a  long  one,  various-headed  and  more  or  less  theological, 
for  the  older  hearers.  Both  discourses  were  vigorous 
and  thoughtful,  and  showed  the  preacher  to  be  a  man 
of  sense  and  ability.  He  was  listened  to  attentively 
for  the  most  part,  about  the  only  distractions  being  the 
occasional  passing  of  snuff-boxes  and  the  sounding 
blasts  of  noses  that  succeeded  this  ceremony.  Not 
far  from  the  pew  1  occupied  on  my  first  Sunday  sat  a 
venerable  farmer,  who,  from  time  to  time,  took  his 
snuff-box  from  his  vest  pocket  and  passed  it  to  the 
elder  in  the  seat  behind,  with  the  stealthy  quiet  and 
sidelong  glance  of  a  schoolboy  doing  something  he 
ought  not,  on  the  sly.  When  the  box  returned  to 
him,  he  indulged  in  a  generous  sniff  himself,  and  then 


The  Sabbath  and  the  Kirks  225 

got  out  a  great  colored  handkerchief;  and  it  was  a  full 
minute  before  he  had  adjusted  himself  into  his  original 
watchfulness  of  the  points  of  the  sermon. 

I  was  told  that  this  old  farmer  sometimes  fell  asleep 
and  snored  in  church,  and  that  of  late,  finding  ordinary 
methods  of  inducing  wakefulness  insufficient,  he  had 
come  to  church  generously  provided  with  sweeties,  on 
which  he  ruminated  between  snuff-takings.  The  gos- 
sips affirmed  that  he  made  such  a  noise  cracking  away 
at  the  sweeties  after  he  got  them  between  his  teeth,  that 
you  could  have  heard  him  all  over  a  church  three  times 
as  large  as  the  Free  Kirk.  This  was  perhaps  an  ex- 
aggeration, for  I  noted  nothing  of  the  sort,  nor  any 
serious  propensity  on  his  part  to  drowsiness.  He  cer- 
tainly acquitted  himself  better  than  an  old  lady  four 
seats  in  front  of  me.  The  service  was  long,  and  toward 
its  close  she  nodded  into  a  nap  and  lost  her  balance. 
There  was  a  thump  and  a  scrape,  and  then  she  started 
back  erect.  No  one  smiled  at  the  episode,  and  it  was 
apparently  too  common  an  occurrence  to  attract  much 
attention. 

Previous  to  its  remodelling,  the  Free  Kirk  had  a 
gallery,  but  this  had  been  for  a  long  time  superfluous, 
and  it  was  torn  out.  Even  with  its  reduced  seating 
capacity,  the  kirk  was  far  from  crowded.  Vacant  pews 
were  sadly  numerous,  where  fifty  years  ago  w-orshippers 
were  so  many  that  not  only  the  body  of  the  church 

Q 


226  The  Land  of  Heather 

was  full,  but  some  had  to  be  seated  in  the  aisles.  In 
those  days  the  glen  was  much  more  densely  populated, 
and  there  were  many  little  farms  and  cotter's  houses 
scattered  along  the  now  lonely  hillsides.  The  big 
farms  have  absorbed  them,  and  the  walls  of  the  little 
houses  have  gone  into  stone  fences  or  new  byres  on 
the  large  holdings  that  are  at  present  customary.  The 
cities  and  the  new  countries  beyond  the  seas  have 
drawn  many  people  from  the  glen.  In  1845  thirty 
families  left  at  one  time  for  America.  But  in  spite  of 
the  diminished  size  of  the  congregation,  the  parishioners 
pay  their  preacher  ^180  a  year,  and  give  him  the  use 
of  the  manse  in  which  he  makes  his  home. 

This  manse,  in  common  with  most  of  its  kind,  was  a 
plain,  two-story  stone  dwelling  with  a  garden  at  one 
side  that  overflowed  every  summer  with  vegetables, 
small  fruits,  and  flowers.  Gravelled  paths  led  to  the 
doors,  and  there  was  a  bit  of  lawn  and  some  shade  trees 
at  the  front,  and  the  whole  was  enclosed  by  hedges. 

It  was  the  habit  of  the  Free  Kirk  minister  to  walk 
or  drive  on  Sunday  evenings  to  one  of  the  outlying 
districts  of  the  glen,  and  there  conduct  a  meeting  in 
some  cottage  or  schoolhouse.  On  mild  summer  Sab- 
baths these  little  gatherings  were  often  held  in  the 
open  air.  I  attended  one  such.  It  was  in  a  little 
field  back  of  a  row  of  cottages.  Chairs  were  brought 
from  the  houses,  and  boards  from  a  neighboring  joiner's 


The  Sabbath  and  the  Kirks  227 

shop  were  laid  from  seat  to  seat,  and  twenty  or  thirty 
of  us  found  places  on  them,  while  several  boys  sat  on 
the  grass  by  the  hedge  that  was  close  behind.  For 
the  convenience  of  the  preacher  a  white-spreaded  stand 
was  provided.  We  sang  a  number  of  times  from  Gos- 
pel Hymns,  and  the  minister  prayed,  read  from  Scrip- 
ture, and  preached  a  short,  practical  sermon.  Two 
great  beeches,  their  leaves  rustling  in  the  light  wind, 
overspread  us,  and  the  low  sun  looked  underneath  and 
brightened  their  gray  trunks.  Could  any  church  be 
finer  than  this  sylvan  temple  of  nature  P 

In  what  I  saw  of  the  U.  P.  Kirk,  it  was  much 
Hke  the  Free,  and  there  seemed  no  special  reason  why 
the  two  denominations  should  not  unite,  as  I  believe 
they  have  since  throughout  Scotland.  But  the  Estab- 
lished Kirk,  or  "  Kirk  of  Scotland,"  has  an  individu- 
ality of  its  own.  Official  recognition  is  given  it  by 
the  government,  and  it  is  aided  by  a  levy  on  the  pro- 
prietors of  the  land.  Yet  because  this  tax  is  an  indi- 
rect one,  it  does  not  provoke  the  discontent  occasioned 
by  tithes  and  church  rates  in  England.  To  be  sure, 
the  landowners  who  pay  the  tax  add  it  to  the  rentals, 
but  as  it  does  not  appear  as  a  separate  item,  its  weight 
is  not  realized. 

The  church  of  the  Established  sect  which  I  recall 
most  vividly  was  one  in  a  well-settled  country  district 
that  supported  not  only  this  but  two  or  three  dissent- 


22  8  The  Land  of  Heather 

ing  churches.  There  was  a  time  when  a  good  deal  of 
bitterness  was  felt  between  the  government  church  and 
the  dissenting  branches ;  but  in  this  particular  com- 
munity the  ancient  animosities  had  apparently  died 
out.  I  sometimes  heard  the  Established  Kirk  spoken 
of  as  "  Auld  Boblin  "  (Old  Babylon),  yet  this  mention 
was  made  jokingly,  and  there  was  no  sharpness  in  the 
epithet. 

The  church  building  was  a  low,  gray  stone  structure 
standing  well  back  from  the  highway  at  the  end  of  a 
narrow  lane  —  a  lane  paved  with  loose  pebbles  that 
made  you  feel  as  if  you  were  doing  penance  as  you 
walked  over  them.  Coarse  pebbles  up  to  the  size  of 
a  hen's  egg  were  a  favorite  material  for  paths  through- 
out the  district.  They  even  took  the  place  of  lawns, 
as,  for  instance,  in  front  of  the  neighboring  schoolhouse, 
where  quite  a  space  was  overspread  with  them.  The 
paths  and  approaches  to  all  the  local  churches  were 
treated  in  the  same  rude  way,  and  once  or  twice  a  year 
the  bedrels  (sextons)  were  at  great  pains  to  scratch  the 
walks  over  and  pick  out  every  bit  of  grass  that  had 
started  on  them.  If  there  was  any  doubt  before  as  to 
the  stern  material  of  which  the  walks  were  made,  no 
such  doubt  could  be  entertained  afterward. 

Round  about  the  old  church  was  the  little  parish 
burying-ground,  with  its  frequent  headstones  and  sim- 
ple monuments,  some  of  them  recent  and  some  so  old 


The  Sabbath  and  the  Kirks  229 

that  the  markings  on  them  were  quite  worn  away. 
Perhaps  the  most  impressive  of  them  were  certain  ones 
marked  with  grewsome  symbols,  Hke  skulls  and  cross- 
bones,  calculated  to  put  the  observer  in  a  properly 
serious  frame  of  mind.  Few  were  reserved  for  the 
grave  of  a  single  individual.  Usually  each  marked 
the  burial-place  of  a  family,  and  whenever  one  of  the 
household  died,  a  fresh  name  was  carved  at  the  bottom 
of  the  list  already  on  the  stone.  But  in  the  case  of 
the  humble  majority  in  the  parish,  the  graves  had 
never  been  marked  at  all,  and  the  bedrel  in  his  dig- 
ging often  unearthed  ancient  bones,  or  struck  the  end 
of  a  coffin. 

On  the  pleasant  summer  Sunday  that  I  attended  the 
old  church  I  was  early,  but  the  gate  at  the  far  end  of 
the  lane '  was  thrown  back,  and  the  bedrel  had  com- 
pleted arrangements  for  the  arrival  of  the  worshippers. 
Just  inside  the  gate  on  the  right-hand  side  was  a  little 
vestry,  like  a  porter's  lodge.  Across  the  path,  on  a 
rustic  bench  under  a  beech  tree,  sat  the  gnarled  old 
sexton.  He  looked  as  if  he  was  there  in  solemn  guard 
over  the  contribution  plate  which  was  on  a  stand  im- 
mediately in  front  of  him.  No  collection  is  taken  up 
during  service  in  the  Scotch  churches.  A  plate  on  a 
stand  does  duty  instead  ;  but  as  a  rule  this  is  just  inside 
the  entrance  of  the  edifice,  and  not,  as  here,  at  the 
portals    of   the    churchyard.     Every    one,    male    and 


230 


The  Land  of  Heather 


female,  old  and  young,  seems  to  feel  it  a  privilege  or 
duty  to  drop  a  coin  on  the  plate,  and  there  is  sure 
to  be  a  goodly  pile,  though  very  likely  mostly  in 
coppers. 

I  deposited  my  mite  as  I  went  through  the  Auld 
Kirk  gate,  and  continued  along  the  pebbles  to  the 
church.  On  looking  in  I  decided  I  would  prefer  to 
sit  in  the  loft  (gallery),  but  how  to  get  there  was  a 
problem.  It  was  plain  that  within  the  church  no  way 
existed  to  gain  the  desired  place  unless  one  was  ath- 
lete enough  to  climb  the  supporting  pillars.  I  did 
not  think  that  Presbyterianism  would  countenance 
such  a  performance  on  the  part  of  its  gallery  wor- 
shippers, and  I  concluded  to  explore  outside.  By 
going  around  to  the  rear  I  found  a  narrow  stone  stair- 
way, and  I  made  the  ascent  to  a  tiny  balcony  that 
clung  high  on  the  wall.  A  door  led  from  the  balcony 
to  the  interior,  and  I  soon  had  installed  myself  in  a 
seat. 

Through  the  middle  of  the  room  below  ran  a  single 
aisle,  on  each  side  of  which  were  rows  of  narrow  pews 
with  backs  so  high  and  perpendicular  it  made  one  ache 
simply  to  look  at  them.  Unhappily,  the  seats  in  the 
loft  were  built  on  the  same  plan  —  a  fact  I  realized  more 
and  more  emphatically  as  time  went  on.  Everything 
was  puritanically  plain  —  bare  plaster  walls,  and  un- 
painted  pews  that  were  brown  and  worm-eaten  with 


An   Exchange  of  Snuff 


The  Sabbath  and  the  Kirks  231 

age.  The  floor  was  dirty  and  littered,  and  I  could 
not  help  fancying  its  acquaintance  with  the  broom 
dated  back  many  months.  This  was  indeed  the  case, 
as  I  learned  later.  Twice  a  year  only  was  the  church 
swept  and  cleaned,  and  it  was  then  near  the  end  of  one 
of  the  undisturbed  periods.  Heat  was  supplied  by  a 
rude  stove  that  sent  a  long  black  pipe  elbowing  up  to 
the  ceiHng.  The  stove  was  placed  just  outside  the 
overhang  of  the  loft,  and  it  apparently  smoked  at 
times,  for  the  gallery-front  and  the  ceiling  above  were 
blackened  with  soot. 

None  of  the  churches  of  the  neighborhood  had  an 
organ,  partly  because  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
find  any  one  in  the  district  who  could  play  such  an 
instrument,  partly  because  the  more  old-fashioned 
people  of  the  region  thought  an  organ  was  irreligious, 
or  at  least  that  its  music  was  not  of  a  character  suited 
for  Sabbath  use  in  a  church.  It  was  a  sentiment  of 
much  the  same  sort  that  formerly  condemned  stoves, 
as  smacking  too  much  of  worldly  comfort.  When  the 
first  church  stove  was  introduced  in  the  region,  an 
elderly  worshipper  in  one  of  the  other  churches  said 
disapprovingly,  "  It  is  a  great  peety  that  their  heirts 
are  grown  that  cauld  they  maun  hae  a  stove  in  the 
kirk." 

But  a  better  reason  for  slowness  in  adopting  artifi- 
cial means  of  heating  was  that  the  fireplaces  in  common 


232  The  Land  of  Heather 

use  in  the  homes  were  entirely  inadequate  for  a  large 
building,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  a  really  practi- 
cal stove  could  be  had. 

The  rear  gable  of  the  Auld  Kirk  was  surmounted 
by  a  diminutive  turret  in  which  hung  a  bell.  From  it 
a  rope  dangled  down  the  ivied  wall,  and  the  sexton,  in 
calling  the  worshippers  to  service,  stood  below  on  the 
grass.  The  bell  had  a  tinkling,  unmusical  sound,  with 
about  as  much  power  in  it  as  there  is  in  a  large  hand- 
bell wielded  at  the  beginning  of  school  sessions  or  the 
close  of  recess  by  a  New  England  district  schoolmarm. 
Twelve  o'clock  was  the  service  hour,  and  the  kirk  bell 
rang  for  several  minutes  preceding.  Its  summons  was 
the  signal  for  the  visiting  groups  of  people  in  the  church- 
yard to  come  inside,  and  when  the  bell  presently  stopped 
its  clamor,  everything  became  very  solemn  and  quiet. 
But  there  was  no  preacher  in  the  high  pulpit,  and  the 
treacherous-looking  sounding-board  hung  over  vacancy. 

The  minutes  dragged  on,  and  the  stiff  seats  grew 
steadily  harder,  and  still  no  sign  of  a  minister.  Yet 
the  congregation  did  not  seem  at  all  anxious.  The 
place  had  very  much  the  air  of  a  prayer-meeting  which 
is  open  for  remarks  that  no  one  is  ready  to  offer.  The 
people  began  to  get  sleepy,  and  made  occasional  shifts 
to  find  more  restful  positions.  But  at  ten  minutes 
past  twelve  the  pastor  came  —  a  staid,  comfortable- 
looking    old    gentleman    in    full,    black    robes,    who 


The  Sabbath  and  the  Kirks  233 

padded  in  as  complacently  as  if  he  was  right  on  the 
dot.  He  cHmbed  leisurely  to  the  pulpit,  got  out  his 
handkerchief  and  laid  it  convenient  at  his  right  hand, 
adjusted  his  books,  and  then  put  on  his  spectacles  and 
gave  out  a  psalm  for  us  to  sing. 

Behind  a  little  desk  under  the  eaves  of  the  pulpit 
sat  a  young  man  who  now  rose  to  beat  time  and  lead 
the  singing.  He  kept  up  a  marked  swaying  of  the 
body  to  match  the  music,  and  in  his  efforts  to  strike 
the  high  notes  properly,  ran  his  eyebrows  up  under 
his  hair.  The  rest  of  the  young  men  and  women  who 
made  up  the  choir  sat  on  the  front  seats  round  about, 
and  rose  with  the  precentor.  But  the  main  body  of 
the  congregation  only  stood  during  the  prayers.  It 
was  a  relief  to  get  up ;  yet  the  prayers  were  so  long 
this  was  a  doubtful  blessing  after  all,  and  most  of  the 
worshippers  sought  some  bodily  support  a  good  while 
before  the  end  of  the  petitions. 

The  sermon  lasted  a  full  half-hour.  Its  subject  was 
"The  Joys  of  Christ,"  and  the  preacher  went  through 
a  list  of  firstlies  and  secondlies  up  to  about  tenthhes. 
He  had  a  slow,  droning  voice,  and  the  effort  to  keep 
awake  in  those  hard,  straight-backed  seats  was  painful. 
When  the  possibilities  of  the  more  ordinary  changes 
of  position  had  been  exhausted,  the  worshippers  would 
lean  on  the  pew-backs  in  front  of  them  or  would  bow 
themselves  forward  with  their  elbows  on  their  knees. 


234  The  Land  of  Heather 

Some  of  the  men  gripped  their  heads  between  their 
hands  in  a  manner  that  suggested  they  were  suffering 
severely,  and  a  few  actually  slept.  There  were  female 
nodders,  too,  and  one  young  woman  in  the  manse 
pew  was  several  times  on  the  point  of  falling  over 
altogether.  She  had  continually  to  open  her  eyes  with 
a  decided  effort  and  look  severely  at  the  minister  to 
keep  from  disgracing  herself 

We  were  a  very  forlorn  congregation,  when  at 
twenty-five  minutes  of  two,  the  minister  finished  his 
elucidation  of  the  tenth  of  Christ's  joys,  and  we  were 
released.  The  crowd  filed  out  into  the  sunshine,  and 
straggled  along  the  lane  and  roadway  toward  the  vil- 
lage. Every  one  was  on  foot.  Even  from  a  distance 
of  three  or  four  miles  the  people  walked,  whole  fami- 
lies together.  Some  of  them  were  old  ladies,  with 
their  outer  skirts  caught  up  over  their  arms,  stepping 
along  as  vigorously  as  if  they  were  in  their  teens  in- 
stead of  past  threescore. 

The  adherents  of  "  Auld  Boblin "  were  not  as 
devoted  to  their  faith  as  the  worshippers  at  the  other 
local  churches,  and  though  their  numbers  were  de- 
cidedly greater,  and  in  spite  of  their  government  in- 
come, they  fell  distinctly  behind  the  dissenters  in  the 
support  they  gave  their  kirk  and  minister.  The  min- 
ister himself  had  not  the  character  of  the  other  pastors. 
His  lacks  were  moral,  not  intellectual,  for  he  was  by 


The  Sabbath  and  the  Kirks  235 

no  means  a  dull  or  ignorant  man.  Some  very  ill  stories 
were  told  of  him,  and  it  was  well  known  that  both  he 
and  his  wife  drank  at  times  a  good  deal  beyond  mod- 
eration, even  if  their  red-faced  heaviness  had  not  con- 
fessed the  fact. 

But  clerical  tippling  is  not  regarded  as  so  detrimen- 
tal to  a  pastor's  influence  and  efficiency  in  Scotland  as 
it  would  be  in  America.  The  clergy  of  the  dissenting 
kirks,  however,  are  now  nearly  all  total  abstainers. 
The  opposite  is  true  of  their  fellows  of  the  Estab- 
lished Kirk,  and  though  the  temperance  sentiment  is 
undoubtedly  growing  among  them,  there  are  those  who 
are  far  from  being  a  credit  to  their  calling.  I  was 
told  by  one  Scotch  minister  that  not  many  years  ago, 
in  his  boyhood  home  near  Oban,  they  had  an  elderly 
clergyman  who  used  to  get  drunk  every  time  he  went 
making  parish  calls.  At  each  home  whiskey  was  set 
forth  for  him,  after  the  time-honored  custom  of  the 
region,  and  this  was  so  much  to  his  liking,  and  the 
potations  he  drank  were  so  liberal,  that  by  the  time  he 
had  made  a  half  dozen  visits  it  was  necessary  for  some 
one  to  carry  him  back  to  the  manse.  The  drink 
habit  grew  on  him,  and  at  length  he  would  appear 
intoxicated  in  the  pulpit,  and  be  so  maudlin  the  church 
elders  would  be  obliged  to  interrupt  him  and  take  him 
out  of  the  kirk  by  force.  In  the  end  the  Presbytery 
induced  him  to  resign.     His  habits,  however,  were  less 


236 


The  Land  of  Heather 


of  a  scandal  than  they  might  have  been  in  that  particu- 
lar community,  had  not  his  two  predecessors  died  of 
delirium  tremens.  No  doubt  this  is  an  extreme  case, 
but  that  such  a  thing  is  possible  is  suggestive  of  con- 
ditions that  are  a  little  surprising  to  say  the  least. 


A  Church  in  a  Northern  Glen 


XIII 


A    BURNS    PILGRIMAGE 


A  Mess  for  the  Pigs 


R 


OBERT 
BURNS 

was  born 
January  25,  1759, 
in  a  cabin  on  the 
outskirts  of  the 
city  of  Ayr ;  and 
for  this  reason  Ayr 
draws  to  itself 
every  year  hosts  of 
visitors.  These  vis- 
itors, it  is  said,  num- 
ber fully  twice  as 
many  as  go  to  Strat- 
ford, which  seems 
to  argue  that  Burns  has  won  more  hearts  than  Shake- 
speare has  won  intellects. 

You  find  yourself  in  a  Burns  atmosphere  the  mo- 
ment you  reach  the  town  ;  for  just  outside  the  station 
stands  an  imposing  monument  to  the  poet,  and   the 

237 


238  The  Land  of  Heather 

shops  are  full  of  Burns  photographs  and  mementos, 
and  nearly  all  the  inns  and  drinking-places,  if  not  ac- 
tually named  either  after  him  or  after  the  most  famous 
character  he  created  —  Tam  o'  Shanter,  —  are  in  some 
other  way  reminiscent  of  him.  One  dingy  little  inn, 
that  has  a  Tam  o'  Shanter  sign  hung  over  its  portals, 
claims  to  be  the  veritable  place  where  Tam,  on  that 
fateful  winter  night 

**  was  glorious. 
O'er  a'  the  ills  o'  life  victorious." 

It  even  preserves  the  wooden  mug  out  of  which  Tam 
drank,  and  the  oak  chair  in  which  he  was  wont  to 
sit. 

Not  less  interesting  are  "  The  Twa  Brigs  o'  Ayr," 
to  which  Burns  gave  such  an  entertaining  individuality 
in  the  poem  of  that  name.  When  he  wrote  of  them  and 
immortalized  their  spirited  comments  on  each  other's 
failings,  the  new  brig  was  just  nearing  completion. 
Puffed  up  with  pride  it  scoffingly  asks  its  rival  — 

**  Will  you,  poor,  narrow  footpath  of  a  street. 

Where  twa  wheelbarrows  tremble  when  they  meet. 
Your  ruined,  formless  bulk  o'  stane  an'  lime. 
Compare  wi'  bonnie  brigs  o'  modern  time  ?  ** 

But  the  auld  brig  declares  — 

**  I'll  be  a  brig  when  ye' re  a  shapeless  cairn! 
As  yet  ye  little  ken  about  the  matter. 
But  twa- three  winters  will  inform  you  better." 


A  Burns  Pilgrimage  239 

Sure  enough,  the  new  bridge  weakened,  and  has  been 
replaced,  while  the  old  bridge  stands  as  of  yore. 

The  poet's  father,  at  the  time  of  his  famous  son's 
birth,  was  employed  as  a  gardener  by  a  gentleman  of 
small  estate  in  the  neighborhood,  and  two  miles  out  of 
the  town  is  the  low  cottage  with  whitewashed  walls  and 
thatched  roof,  which  was  his  home.  It  has  a  pleasant 
flavor  of  unaltered  antiquity  as  seen  from  without, 
though  this  effect  is  somewhat  counteracted  by  the 
many  buses,  coaches,  and  lesser  vehicles  that  stand 
along  the  roadside,  or  that  are  constantly  coming  and 
going.  Until  within  a  few  years  the  house  has  been 
an  inn ;  but  now  it  is  public  property,  kept  as  a 
memorial,  and  the  entrance  is  guarded  by  a  turn- 
stile, through  which  you  purchase  the  privilege  to 
pass  by  payment  of  twopence. 

The  kitchen  is  the  only  room  of  special  interest. 
It  was  in  this  room  that  Burns  first  saw  the  light, 
and  tradition  adds  that  the  poet  was  only  a  few  days 
old  when  a  violent  storm  "  tirled  "  away  part  of  the 
roof,  and  mother  and  babe  were  forced  to  seek  shelter 
in  the  cottage  of  a  neighbor.  The  apartment  is  still 
kept  in  some  semblance  of  its  original  state,  and  con- 
tains the  old  curtained  bed  in  a  niche  of  the  wall,  a 
quaint,  whitewashed  fireplace,  a  dresser  full  of  blue 
crockery,  a  tall  clock,  and  two  ancient  tables  notched 
all   over  with   knife-cut  initials.      Yet,   after   all,   the 


240  The  Land  of  Heather 

kitchen  lacks  the  touch  of  life ;  it  is  not  used,  and  it 
has  the  stiffness  inseparable  from  a  show  room. 

A  short  walk  beyond  the  Burns  cottage  stands  the 
renowned  AUoway  Kirk,  in  which  Tam  o'  Shanter  saw 
the  witches.  It  has  long  been  a  ruin,  and  the  last  of 
the  roof  fell  in  three-quarters  of  a  century  ago.  Even 
in  Burns's  time  it  had  been  abandoned,  and  was  going 
to  decay.  But  the  walls  continue  intact,  and  are  braced 
by  numerous  iron  rods  that  will  keep  what  is  left  of  the 
structure  erect  for  many  years  to  come.  A  little  bell 
still  hangs  in  the  stone  arch  of  the  belfry,  and  a  bit 
of  chain  attached  to  it  dangles  down  the  front  wall. 
Wandering  among  the  churchyard  graves  at  the  time 
I  visited  the  ancient  kirk  was  a  gray,  bent  old  man. 
He  was  very  thin,  and  his  faded  coat  hung  loosely 
on  his  sloping  shoulders.  Astride  his  beaked  nose 
he  wore  a  large  pair  of  antiquated  spectacles  that  gave 
him  a  look  of  owlish  wisdom.  He  seemed  to  make 
it  his  business  to  hobble  about  and  act  as  a  guide  to 
all  visitors.  Some  paid  no  attention  to  him,  while 
others  found  him  very  entertaining  and  instructive. 
He  never  varied  his  tones,  and  he  used  the  same 
showman's  words  and  manner  with  every  party.  At 
frequent  intervals,  in  the  midst  of  his  information,  he 
would  break  forth  into  poetry.  He  pointed  out  the 
stone  that  marked  the  graves  of  Burns's  father,  and 
"  Agnes  Brown,  his  spouse,"  and  led  his  auditors  to 


pq 


A  Burns  Pilgrimage  241 

the  resting-place  of  "  Souter  Johnny."  He  showed 
in  which  direction  lay  the  old  road  by  which  Tarn 
came  from  Ayr,  indicated  the  window  of  the  church 
whose  midnight  glow  arrested  Tam's  attention,  and 
through  which  Tam  watched  the  scene  within ;  and  he 
told  which  the  other  window  was  where  the  de'il  sat 
fiddUngfor  the  witches'  dancing.  At  this  point  the  old 
man  would  drop  his  prose  and  recite  the  final  verses 
of  the  poem  with  great  energy,  emphasized  by  many 
gestures  of  hand  and  cane.  His  singsong  and  his 
Scotch  tang  gave  the  poem  new  flavor  and  attraction, 
and  I  loitered  until  I  had  heard  the  recital  several 
times  repeated. 

Alloway  Kirk  is  only  a  short  distance  from  the 
"  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon."  The  Doon  is 
an  unusually  pretty  little  river  that  flows  swift  and 
clear  between  steep,  wooded  banks.  The  auld  brig 
across  which  Tam  o'  Shanter  made  his  wild  flight 
is  the  centre  of  interest.  It  has  a  high,  handsome 
arch,  and  over  this  the  road  climbs  as  if  it  had  en- 
countered a  little  hill.  The  highway  of  the  present 
time  preserves  a  commonplace  level  across  a  new 
bridge  a  few  rods  below,  and  the  auld  brig  is  not 
much  used,  save  by  lovers  of  Burns  and  by  an  elderly 
man  who  stations  himself  at  the  top  of  the  arch,  and, 
like  his  fellow  laborer  in  the  kirkyard,  spouts  "  Tam 
o*  Shanter''  to  all  comers. 


242  The  Land  of  Heather 

Burns  was  still  a  child  when  his  residence  in  this 
immediate  vicinity  terminated ;  for  he  was  only  seven 
when  his  father  took  a  small  farm  on  his  employer's 
estate.  The  change  proved  to  be  an  unfortunate  one, 
his  savings  melted  away,  and  presently  the  family 
moved  ten  miles  farther  into  the  country  and  settled 
on  a  second  farm  at  Tarbolton.  Here  the  father  died, 
and  as  Burns  was  the  eldest  of  the  seven  children,  the 
responsibility  of  managing  the  farm  fell  on  his  shoul- 
ders. He  did  not  make  it  pay,  and  his  troubles  mul- 
tiplied. 

Meanwhile  he  had  produced  a  considerable  amount 
of  verse,  and  at  length  he  tried  the  experiment  of  put- 
ting it  into  book  form.  The  edition  was  printed  at 
his  own  expense,  and  consisted  of  only  six  hundred 
copies.  Yet  these  were  quickly  sold,  and  left  him 
twenty  pounds  profit.  What  was  of  more  impor- 
tance, it  won  him  friends  in  the  literary  world,  who 
encouraged  him  to  seek  a  publisher  in  Edinburgh. 
This  he  did  successfully,  and  the  demand  for  his 
poems  in  the  following  year  made  him  master  of 
about  five  hundred  pounds.  Now  he  felt  himself  to 
be  independent,  and  he  loaned  a  part  of  his  wealth 
to  his  brother  Gilbert,  and  with  the  rest  took  a  farm 
near  Dumfries,  resolved  to  settle  himself  permanently 
in  the  occupation  of  agriculture.  On  this  farm,  with 
his  wife  and  children,  he  spent  what  were  perhaps  the 


The   Brig   o'    Doon 


A  Burns  Pilgrimage  243 

happiest  and  most  tranquil  days  of  his  life.  Unfortu- 
nately these  were  not  destined  to  last.  In  the  course 
of  a  few  years  he  had  exhausted  his  resources.  The 
soil  yielded  poetry,  but  not,  in  his  case,  a  living,  and 
thenceforth  he  made  his  home  in  Dumfries.  There 
he  found  employment  in  the  service  of  the  govern- 
ment as  an  exciseman  at  a  salary  of  seventy  pounds  a 
year,  and  this  meagre  income  necessitated  the  utmost 
economy. 

As  compared  with  Ayr,  which  is  unusually  clean 
and  tidy  for  a  Scotch  town,  Dumfries  is  dirty  and 
crowded.  One  feels  that  it  is  not  nearly  so  much  in 
harmony  with  the  poet  as  the  quiet  pastoral  region 
about  his  birthplace,  with  its  fine  trees  and  level  fields. 
The  house  in  which  Burns  Hved  when  he  moved  from 
the  farm  is  a  plain  three-story  tenement  near  the  river, 
with  other  houses  elbowing  it  on  either  side.  A  single 
upper  floor,  consisting  of  a  little  kitchen  and  two  other 
rooms,  was  all  he  occupied.  At  the  end  of  eighteen 
months  he  took  another  house,  and  as  he  had  the 
whole  of  it,  was  perhaps  more  comfortable  than  in  the 
tenement  by  the  river.  Yet  it  was  very  small,  and 
whoever  seeks  it  now  finds  it  in  a  shabby  neighbor- 
hood, overlooked  by  big,  odorous  tanneries.  In  this 
house  Burns  dwelt  his  last  three  years,  and  it  was  here 
he  died.  His  poverty  at  the  time  was  extreme,  but 
he  was  not  in  debt. 


244  The  Land  of  Heather 

Just  around  the  corner,  only  a  few  steps  from  the 
little  white  cottage  among  the  tanneries,  is  a  great 
brown  church.  It  is  very  ancient,  and  the  churchyard 
is  crowded  full  of  heavy  gravestones,  monuments,  and 
tombs  —  twenty-six  thousand  of  them  —  and  they  stand 
thicker  than  they  would  in  a  marble  yard.  There  was 
a  grim  suggestion,  in  their  close-set  rows  and  regular 
placing,  of  a  veritable  city  of  the  dead  from  whose  tree- 
less barren  —  sunburned,  storm-swept,  and  blasted  — 
all  cheer  had  flown  away.  At  the  far  end  of  this  forlorn 
and  stony  enclosure  the  poet  lies  buried,  and  over  his 
remains  has  been  erected  an  ugly  mausoleum  that  is 
quite  in  keeping  with  the  surroundings,  but  wholly 
foreign  to  the  individuality  of  Burns  himself. 

The  poet*s  celebrity  during  his  later  years  made 
him  an  object  of  interest  and  curiosity  to  strangers, 
and  many  persons  passing  through  Dumfries  would 
call  on  him.  He  could  not  conveniently  receive  them 
at  his  home,  and  was  accustomed  instead  to  go  to  the 
town  inns,  where  the  interviews  often  terminated  in 
convivial  excesses.  To  the  taverns  he  also  was  in  the 
habit  of  going  with  companions  who  lived  in  the  town 
itself;  and  wherever  he  was,  the  evening  was  sure  to 
be  a  merry  one,  for  his  good  humor  and  ready  wit 
were  unfailing. 

A  favorite  resort  was  the  Globe  Hotel,  on  a  tiny 
lane  just  off  the  square.     Here  you  can  see  the  dark 


A  Burns  Pilgrimage 


245 


wainscotted  taproom  where  Burns  used  to  sing,  tell 
stories,  and  drink.  His  table  is  still  there,  and  in  a 
corner  is  the  chair  to  which  he  was  partial,  while,  if 
you  will  step  upstairs,  you  can  see  his  punch  bowl, 
Jean's  workbox,  and  a  verse  of  "  Comin'  through  the 
Rye,"  just  as  it  was  scratched  by  the  poet  himself  on  a 
window-pane.  It  is  a  privilege  to  look  on  these  things, 
for  every  relic  of  Burns  and  every  spot  associated  with 
him  has  something  of  sacredness  ;  and  to  Ayr  and  Dum- 
fries come  pilgrims  from  the  world  over  to  observe  for 
themselves  the  scenes  familiar  to  his  eyes  and  celebrated 
in  his  verse. 


The  Twa  Brigs  o'  Ayr" 


XIV 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    GALLOWAY 


WHAT  I  saw 
of  Galloway 
was  mostly 
confined  to  its  far  end, 
where  I  spent  some 
days  in  the  little  sea- 
port town  of  Stranraer 
and  its  neighborhood. 
The  attraction  that 
drew  me  thither  was 
in  part  a  certain  charm 
that  literature  has 
given  to  Galloway,  but 
more  a  desire  to  see 
that  portion  of  the  district  known  as  "  The  Rhinns." 
There  was  a  mystic  spell  in  this  name  which  held  sug- 
gestions of  strange  and  highly  picturesque  landscape, 
and  of  native  dwellers  whose  ways  would  be  peculiarly 
primitive  and  interesting.  But,  after  all,  "  Rhinns  "  is 
simply  equivalent  to  the  English  word  prongs,  and  a 

246 


\ 

J 

^l''-\ 

m 

/M^^^ml    "".^^ 

i^wi^- 

inlufflKEMili^ifflni^S 

^>,..  -?: 

Kgf;'%' 

^.-      ■ 

'M"^^^ 

^P5^., 

-. 

■''•^■•C^^h 

a?5f^j;jV  >  • 

:^y:M( 

k^^m^. 

A  Stone-breaker 


A  Glimpse  of  Galloway  247 

glance  at  the  map  reveals  its  significance,  for  the  land 
projects  seaward  to  north  and  south  like  the  clumsy 
horns  of  some  great  beast. 

These  Rhinns  of  Galloway  are  also  called  the  Gallo- 
way Highlands,  a  name  which  for  a  stranger  has  a 
more  definite  meaning  than  the  other,  even  if  decid- 
edly less  fascinating.  The  scenery,  however,  is  but  a 
dwarfed  imitation  of  the  Scotch  Highlands  of  the 
north,  and  is  only  worthy  the  title  when  comparison 
is  made  with  the  general  low  flatness  of  the  rest  of  the 
Galloway  country.  The  upheaval  is  never  really  lofty, 
rugged,  or  in  any  way  striking,  and  indeed  attains  to 
nothing  more  than  big,  rounded  swells.  The  grass- 
fields,  pastures,  ploughed  lands,  and  the  patches  of 
woodland  sweep  away  gently  over  the  hilltops  and 
down  into  the  valleys,  and,  with  the  farmhouses,  give 
the  region  an  aspect  of  pleasant  fertility. 

On  a  long  tramp  over  the  Rhinns,  that  occupied 
nearly  the  whole  of  a  summer  day,  I  learned  that  the 
farmers  were  far  from  satisfied,  in  spite  of  the  seem- 
ingly prosperous  cultivation  of  the  country.  They 
complained  because  prices  were  low,  and  because  a  cer- 
tain ogre  of  a  landlord  dealt  hardly  with  them,  and 
stripped  their  holdings  of  the  best  cattle  to  satisfy  his 
claims. 

"  I  kenned  him,"  said  one  man,  "  when  he  hadna 
ane    ha'penny  to    rub  against  anither.       But   he   hae 


248      ^  The  Land  of  Heather 

plenty  noo.  Hoo  he  gat  his  wealth  I  canna  say, 
though  'tis  tell't  'twas  through  a  brither  who  robbed 
a  bank  in  America.  This  brither  was  caught  and  pit 
in  prison,  but  he  had  secretit  the  money,  and  when  he 
was  lat  oot,  he  gat  it  and  cam'  hame,  and  he  took  to 
drink,  and  ane  day  jumped  oot  a  twa-story  window 
and  was  killed.  Aifter  that,  the  mon  that's  the  land- 
lord noo  seemed  to  be  sudden  rich,  and  since  then  he 
hae  bought  a'  the  farmlands  that  coom  in  the  market. 
But  I'm  no  thinkin'  his  brither,  gin  he  stole  as  they 
say,  wad  hae  been  lat  loose  if  he  hadna  gi'en  up  the 
treasure  he'd  ta'en.  The  Yankees  are  too  clever  for 
that,  are  they  not,  noo  ?  " 

I  had  not  the  assurance  he  showed  as  to  the  cute- 
ness  of  my  countrymen  in  such  matters,  and  had  to 
confess  that  some  of  our  rascals  have  a  good  deal  easier 
time  than  they  deserve,  and  that  we  were  in  the  habit 
of  dealing  less  severely  with  the  gentlemanly  law- 
breaker who,  while  in  the  employ  of  a  bank,  takes 
tens  or  hundreds  of  thousands,  than  with  the  petty 
thief  whose  methods  are  more  vulgar,  and  whose  steal- 
ings may  amount  to  only  a  few  dollars. 

The  farmer  whose  remarks  I  have  reported  had 
fallen  in  with  me  on  the  road,  and  we  had  been  trudg- 
ing along  in  company,  but  now  we  came  to  the  lane 
which  turned  aside  to  his  home,  and  we  parted.  A 
little  farther  on  I  overtook  half  a  dozen  children  play- 


The   Postman 


A  Glimpse  of  Galloway  249 

ing  horse.  They  had  twigs  for  whips,  and  gay-colored 
worsted  reins  which  they  said  they  had  knit  themselves. 
We  got  acquainted  and  kept  on  together  for  a  mile  or 
two.  Sometimes  they  ran,  sometimes  walked,  and 
sometimes  stopped  to  make  forays  into  the  neighbor- 
ing hedges  or  woodlands.  They  gathered  flowers,  and 
they  watched  the  birds,  and  whenever  a  songster  flew 
up  from  the  clumps  of  furze  and  hawthorn  growing  on 
the  roadside  banks,  they  hastened  to  see  if  they  could 
find  a  nest.  Once  they  called  me  to  them,  and  reach- 
ing into  a  cranny  among  the  leaves  and  brambles  of 
the  hedgerow,  took  out  an  egg  and  a  naked  little 
bird  for  my  delectation.  I  begged  them  to  restore 
these  treasures,  and  asked  how  they  happened  to  find 
them.  But  they  said,  "  Oh,  we  kenned  that  nest 
before." 

I  had  noticed  that  the  fields  seemed  very  vacant, 
and  I  mentioned  this  to  the  children.  They,  however, 
declared  it  was  not  so  always,  and  1  should  wait  till 
harvest.  Then  all  the  Irish  came  over  from  their 
home  country  to  help,  and  the  farmlands  were  nearly 
as  busy  as  the  town. 

"  Are  you  all  Scotch  ?  "   I  queried. 

"  Ay,  we  are,  sir  !  '*  they  responded. 

"And  do  you  not  wish  you  were  Irish  ?  " 

"  No ! "  said  they,  with  emphasis,  "  we  would  die 
firrust !  " 


250  The  Land  of  Heather 

I  suppose  they  had  no  idea  how  close  was  their 
racial  relationship. 

For  many  miles  after  leaving  Stranraer  I  was  on  a 
road  that  kept  along  the  heights,  but  at  length  I 
descended  by  a  side  way  to  the  sea,  and  followed  the 
windings  of  the  shore  northerly.  At  one  point  I  sat 
down  and  rested  while  I  chatted  with  a  white-haired 
laborer  breaking  stone  by  the  roadside.  Again,  I 
paused  to  speak  with  a  boy  who  lay  in  the  grass  on 
the  open,  seaward  side  of  the  highway  watching  a 
group  of  cows  pasturing  on  the  patches  of  unfenced 
grassland  next  the  pebbly  beach.  He  said  he  brought 
the  cows  there  daily  from  the  farm  three  miles  distant. 

The  afternoon  was  waning  when  I  finally  began  to 
retrace  my  steps.  Earlier,  the  sky  had  been  clouded 
and  threatening,  but  as  I  rambled  back  to  the  town 
the  sun  came  out  pleasantly  warm,  the  haze  in  the  air 
cleared,  and  I  could  see  the  green,  hedgerowed  hills 
beyond  the  bay. 

On  another  day  I  went  by  train  across  the  Rhinns  to 
Port  Patrick.  From  there  the  Irish  coast  is  only  a 
score  of  miles  distant,  and  Port  Patrick  used  to  be 
the  landing  point  for  vessels  from  Larne  and  Belfast. 
Half  a  million  pounds  were  at  one  time  expended  on 
the  harbor,  but  the  situation  is  too  exposed,  and  the  bil- 
lows wrecked  the  great  walls  of  masonry  and  tore  apart 
the  huge  blocks  of  stone,  even  though  they  were  bolted 


A  Glimpse  of  Galloway  251 

together  with  stout  sinews  of  iron.  At  the  same  time 
the  waves  heaved  many  big  boulders  into  the  harbor 
entrance  that  shut  out  all  but  the  smaller  craft,  and 
now  you  find  the  ruined  masonry  abandoned  to  the 
will  of  the  sea. 

The  place  itself  is  a  sleepy  little  village  in  a  ravine 
that  opens  back  inland  between  two  steep  slopes.  It 
was  named  after  Ireland's  patron  saint,  who  here  first 
set  foot  on  Scottish  soil.  Tradition  relates  that  he 
came,  not  as  ordinary  mortals  would,  in  a  boat,  but 
skipped  over  the  twenty  miles  of  water  at  a  single 
jump.  The  marks  of  his  feet  where  he  landed  were 
formerly  plainly  imprinted  in  a  rock  on  the  borders  of 
the  harbor,  but  this  rock  was  broken  up  when  that 
futile  and  expensive  attempt  was  made  to  improve  the 
port.  St.  Patrick  did  not  find  the  people  as  hospitably 
inclined  toward  him  as  the  Irish.  Indeed,  some  of  the 
Galloway  men  were  rude  enough  to  cut  off  the  visiting 
saint's  head.  This  treatment  so  offended  him  that  he 
determined  to  leave  Scotland,  and  he  took  his  head  in 
his  teeth  and  swam  across  to  his  beloved  Ireland. 

Quite  likely  the  details  of  his  return  to  Erin  may 
be  mythical.  Certainly  no  one  at  present  residing  in 
the  port  claims  to  have  witnessed  the  exploit,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  region  live  to  a 
very  great  age.  One  of  the  stories  illustrative  of  Gal- 
loway longevity  is  this  :  — 


252  The  Land  of  Heather 

"  A  stranger  found  a  man  of  over  threescore  years 
and  ten  weeping  by  the  roadside.  He  inquired  the 
cause  of  this  lamentation,  and  the  old  man  said  his 
father  had  just  chastised  him  for  throwing  stones  at 
his  grandfather." 

After  an  hour  or  two  by  the  shore,  I  followed  a  road 
up  the  hollow  and  on  through  a  wood  where  the  ground 
was  sprinkled  everywhere  with  bluebell  clusters.  Be- 
yond the  wood  lay  open  hilltops,  over  which  I  went 
northward  up  and  down  the  gloomy  slopes  for  a  long 
distance.  It  was  a  "coorse"  day,  as  the  Scotch  say 
—  the  sky  overcast  with  sullen  clouds,  and  a  chilly 
wind  blowing.  There  was  almost  no  protection  on  the 
uplands,  for  they  were  nearly  bare  of  trees,  and  even 
hedgerows  were  infrequent.  The  crests  of  the  hills 
were  often  wide  wastes  of  heather  and  thorny  whins, 
but  lower  lay  broad  farm  fields.  The  cottages  and 
farmhouses  were  far  apart,  and  they  so  rarely  had  the 
softening  touch  of  trees  or  shrubbery  near  them  that 
they  made  the  region  look  doubly  lonely  and  desolate. 

Most  of  the  time  I  had  no  company  save  that  of 
the  curlews  and  peesweeps,  with  their  wild  squeaks  and 
screams,  and  I  was  heartily  glad  presently  to  meet  a 
postman  coming  out  from  a  farmyard  gate.  He  was 
going  in  my  direction,  and  I  accelerated  my  speed  to 
keep  pace  with  him.  A  canvas  bag  containing  the 
mail  hung  at  his  side,  and  he  carried  a  rubber  cape  on 


A  Glimpse  of  Galloway  253 

his  arm  ready  for  use  in  case  it  rained.  He  had  a  long 
daily  circuit  to  make,  and  said  he  walked  a  hundred  miles 
a  week.  When  we  parted  he  went  off  by  a  path  over 
the  moorlands,  and  a  little  later  I  turned  back  toward 
Port  Patrick,  where  I  took  the  train  for  Stranraer. 

I  stayed  while  in  Stranraer  at  an  unusually  pleasant 
and  homelike  temperance  hotel.  Mrs.  Bruce,  the  good 
old  lady  who  kept  the  house,  was  very  kind  and  moth- 
erly, and  I  Hked  nothing  better  of  an  evening  than  to 
sit  and  talk  with  her  in  her  clean  httle  kitchen.  She 
did  not  have  a  very  high  opinion  of  Stranraer.  In 
fact,  she  did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  she  believed  it  was 
the  most  drunken  place  in  Scotland.  The  police  court 
had  no  end  of  cases  of  intoxication  to  deal  with,  espe- 
cially on  Monday  mornings,  when  the  tipplers  had  to 
answer  for  their  Saturday  night  carousing.  Worst  of 
all,  the  provost  (mayor)  himself  was  a  man  who  was 
boozing  most  of  the  time,  and  not  infrequently  had  to 
be  locked  in  his  room  while  the  liquor  craze  was  on. 
Stranraer  was  a  resort  for  all  sorts  of  people,  and  in 
summer  they  came  in  crowds.  Mostly  they  were  Irish, 
arriving  from  their  native  isle  by  the  steamship  line 
which  makes  this  its  haven,  or  they  were  Scotch  town- 
folk  down  from  Ayr  and  Glasgow  on  a  holiday.  Mrs. 
Bruce  liked  the  Irish  best.  They  were  sure  to  be 
pleasant-spoken  and  courteous,  while  the  Scotch  were 
at  times  rude  and  troublesome. 


254  The  Land  of  Heather 

My  landlady  formerly  lived  several  miles  from  the 
town,  out  in  the  country,  and  there  she  for  a  long 
period  lodged  the  ministers  of  the  local  church.  She 
had  a  succession  of  six  in  her  home,  all  young  and  all 
good  enough  in  their  way ;  but  near  acquaintance  and 
knowledge  of  them  had  made  it  impossible  for  her  to 
feel  the  veneration  toward  the  cloth  which  she  had 
been  brought  up  to  think  was  its  due.  Her  previous 
intuitions  were  that  a  minister  had  something  of  the 
divine  about  him,  and  that  there  was  a  gulf  fixed 
between  him  and  ordinary  folk.  But  of  these  six 
young  men  only  one  was  at  all  consecrated  to  his 
work.  With  the  others  it  was  just  a  trade.  They 
preached  for  a  living,  and  she  was  afraid  that  was  the 
case  with  nearly  all  ministers.  She  thought,  too,  that 
many  of  them  did  not  thoroughly  believe,  or,  at  least, 
had  little  care  one  way  or  the  other,  about  the  doctrine 
which  they  preached.  These  six  ministers  who  had 
been  in  her  home  were  simply  fun-loving  young  men, 
very  human  in  their  likes  and  dislikes,  their  faults  and 
foibles  ;  and,  except  for  one,  if  they  had  happened  to 
take  up  some  other  calling,  it  would  have  been  all  the 
same  to  them. 

I  was  not  a  little  regretful  when  the  time  came  to 
leave  my  Stranraer  hotel,  yet  the  pleasantest  memory 
is  of  the  parting.  I  had  a  long  railroad  journey  before 
me,  and  at  the  last  moment  it  occurred  to  the  landlady 


Woodland   Hyacinths 


A  Glimpse  of  Galloway  255 

and  her  daughter  that  I  ought  to  take  along  a  lunch. 
This  they  hastened  to  put  up,  and  they  would  take 
no  pay,  but  bestowed  it  on  me  and  saw  me  started 
away  with  as  much  apparent  solicitude  as  if  I  had 
been  a  near  relative. 

My  last  sight  of  the  land  of  heather  was  from  a 
little  place  called  Gilsland,  eighteen  miles  east  of  Car- 
lisle. From  the  Gilsland  railway  station  I  tramped  off 
over  the  hills  in  search  of  a  portion  of  the  old  Roman 
wall  said  to  be  in  existence  there  —  the  wall  that  was 
built  across  the  north  of  England  to  keep  out  the 
Scots  and  Picts.  I  found  what  I  sought  on  a  grazing 
upland  where  the  peaceful  sheep  were  feeding,  as  if 
the  scene  had  always  been  pastorally  quiet  and  its 
ancient  martial  aspect  a  fable.  But  the  appearance  of 
Scotland  was  everywhere  different  in  the  days  of  the 
Romans.  There  was  little  cultivated  land  and  smooth 
pasturage.  On  the  hills  were  vast  forests  of  giant 
oaks,  and  the  swampy  valleys  were  overgrown  with 
thickets  of  birch,  alder,  and  hazel.  Deer,  wolves,  and 
wild  cats  abounded.  It  was  a  difficult  country  to  con- 
quer, and  the  Roman  troops  were  incessantly  engaged 
in  warfare  with  the  wild  northern  tribes.  Nor  did 
they  ever  succeed  in  permanently  subduing  them,  and 
when  they  withdrew  after  occupying  Britain  for  three 
and  one  half  centuries,  the  people  of  the  north  were 
unchanged  in  either  language  or  habits. 


256  The  Land  of  Heather 

A  wall,  to  serve  as  a  line  of  defence  against  the 
marauding  Scotch,  was  begun  about  the  year  120  by 
the  emperor  Hadrian.  At  first  it  was  only  an  embank- 
ment of  earth.  When  finished  it  stretched  across  the 
country  for  seventy  miles,  from  the  sea  near  Newcastle 
on  the  east,  to  the  Solway  Firth  on  the  west.  Soon 
after  its  completion  the  Roman  frontier  was  pushed 
onward  some  fifty  or  more  miles,  and  another  wall  was 
built,  from  the  Firth  of  Forth  at  Edinburgh  to  the 
Clyde  at  Dumbarton.  This  marked  the  extreme  north- 
ern hmit  of  the  empire.  The  strip  between  the  two 
walls  included  most  of  the  Scotch  Lowlands;  but  it  did 
not  long  remain  in  undisputed  Roman  possession,  and 
presently  the  southern  wall  was  again  the  defensive 
border  line.  When  Severus  came  to  Britain,  he  re- 
placed the  earth  rampart  with  a  wall  of  stone  eight 
feet  thick  and  twelve  feet  high.  Along  its  course  he 
established  eighteen  military  stations  garrisoned  by 
cohorts  of  Roman  soldiers,  and  at  intervals  of  a 
mile  were  forts  containing  one  hundred  men  each, 
while  between  each  pair  of  forts  were  four  watch- 
towers.  Toward  the  close  of  the  fourth  century  Ro- 
man dominion  was  reasserted  over  the  Scotch  lowlands, 
but  the  territory  was  shortly  lost  again,  and  a  little 
later  the  Romans  finally  abandoned  Britain. 

Of  the  huge  line  of  fortifications  erected  by  the  old 
Roman  emperors  surprisingly  little  remains,  and  even 


A  Glimpse  of  Galloway  257 

when  the  remnants  are  best  preserved,  as  at  Gilsland, 
they  are  not  at  all  conspicuous.  Here  had  been  one 
of  the  old  forts,  and  I  had  expected  to  see  some  mas- 
sive ruins  ;  but  the  reality  was  hardly  more  than  an 
ordinary  stone  fence,  and  it  was  rarely  so  high  that  I 
could  not  overlook  it.  Beyond  a  narrow  area  on  this 
hilltop  the  old-time  upheavals  of  earth  and  stone 
ceased  altogether,  and  the  fragments  to  be  found  any- 
where from  coast  to  coast  are  few  and  insignificant. 
But,  though  to  the  eye  the  ruins  were  not  at  all  im- 
posing, when  I  recalled  their  age  and  associations,  to 
have  seen  them  seemed  a  notable  experience.  They 
furnished,  too,  an  impressive  example  of  time's  power 
to  level  and  disintegrate,  and  of  the  constant  efforts  of 
the  elements  to  wipe  out  everything  that  lifts  itself 
above  the  general  level,  though  man,  too,  in  this 
instance,  has  had  much  to  do  with  the  devastation. 
Now  I  took  leave  of  bonnie  Scotland  and  journeyed 
southward  into  England,  a  section  more  beautiful,  per- 
haps, to  the  eye,  but  certainly  not  one  which  appeals 
more  forcibly  to  the  imagination.  I  doubt  if  any  land 
has  the  fortune  to  be  as  widely  loved  by  those  not 
native  to  its  soil  as  this  country  of  the  heather.  Its 
glens  and  hills,  its  woods  and  shrubby  dens,  its  bracken 
slopes  and  moorland  heights,  its  noisy  streams  and 
its  mountain-girded  lochs  have  won  the  affection  of 
the  whole  English-speaking  race.     Then  there  is  its 


258 


The  Land  of  Heather 


past,  its  days  of  heroism  and  romance,  that  live  for  us 
in  history  and  song,  and,  more  than  all,  in  the  magic 
pages  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  Finally,  Scotland  is  the 
home  of  one  of  the  most  hardy,  thrifty,  brave,  and 
warm-hearted  races  in  the  world. 


A  Castle  of  the  Black  Douglas 


New  England  and  Its  Neighbors 

By  Clifton  Johnson 

With  over  loo  Illustrations  by  the  Author 
Cloth        Crown  8vo       Gilt  top       $2.00  net 


<*  Mr.  Johnson  is  a  keen  observer  ;  he  knows  how  to  describe  the 
scenes  he  visits  and  the  people  he  meets.  The  student  of  American 
life  outside  of  urban  boundaries  could  not  ask  for  a  better  guide." 

—  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"A  book  that  ranks  with  the  best  in  the  author's  long  list  of  enter- 
taining and  picturesque  works.  Every  phase  of  the  New  Englander's 
existence  is  touched,  and  one  feels  he  is  hstening  to  a  sympathetic 
interpreter  of  things.  Mr.  Johnson's  literary  style  is  direct,  and  his 
word-pictures  vivid.  The  result  is  a  book  that  will  doubtless  give 
long  delight."  —  Denver  Republican. 

**  A  simple,  natural,  rambling  record  of  rural  Yankeedom,  picturing 
to  the  very  life  the  ways  and  habits,  the  conversation,  the  whimsicah- 
ties,  of  the  people  of  the  smaller  villages  and  farmhouses  of  the  north- 
eastern portion  of  the  United  States.  And  the  illustrations  carry  out 
the  spirit  of  the  text  perfectly." 

—  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"There  is  a  broad  impressionism  about  Mr.  Clifton  Johnson's 
*  New  England  and  Its  Neighbors  '  compared  with  which  the  manner 
of  the  majority  of  books  about  outdoor  life  is  like  niggling  in  a  back 
yard.  The  descriptions  are  admirable.  The  book  is  full  of  quiet 
humor,  and  the  portraits  of  individual  characters  are  so  lifelike  that  to 
have  read  of  them  is  to  have  met  and  talked  with  them." 

—  Pall  Mall  Gazette y  London. 


The   Macmillan   Company 

66  Fifth  Avenue       -       -       -       New  York 


AMONG   ENGLISH   HEDGEROWS 

By  CLIFTON   JOHNSON 

IVith  an  Introduction  by  HAMILTON  W.  MABIE 

Illustrated.    Cr.  8vo.    Cloth  extra.    Qilt  top.    $2.25 

" '  Among  English  Hedgerows '  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  illus« 
trated  books,  containing,  as  it  does,  a  great  number  of  half-tone  repro- 
ductions of  Mr.  Johnson's  admirable  photographs. 

"  The  author,  as  far  as  possible,  lived  the  life  of  the  people  who  figure  in 
these  pages,  and  we  have  delightful  accounts  of  village  characters,  and 
glimpses  of  quaint  old  English  homes. 

"  Hamilton  \V.  Mabie,  who  furbishes  the  introduction,  well  summarizes 
Mr.  Johnson's  merits  as  '  a  friendly  eye,  a  hearty  sympathy,  and  a  very 
intelligent  camera,  and  that  love  of  his  field  and  of  his  subject  which  is 
the  prime  characteristic  of  the  successful  painter  of  rural  life  and  country 
folk.' "  —  Illustrated  Buffalo  Express. 


ALONG   FRENCH    BYWAYS 

By  CLIFTON   JOHNSON 

Illustrated.    Cr.  8vo.    Cloth  extra.    Gilt  top.    $2.25 

"A  book  of  leisurely  strolling  through  one  of  the  most  picturesque 
countries  of  Europe,  enlivened  with  description  and  anecdote,  and  pro- 
fusely illustrated.  .  .  .  Mr.  Johnson  is  not  only  a  delightful  writer,  but  is 
one  of  the  best  landscape  photographers  of  whom  we  have  knov/ledge."  — 
Boston  Tratiscript. 

"This  book  shares  the  merits  of  Mr.  Johnson's  'Among  English  Hedge- 
rows' :  simplicity  of  theme  and  treatment,  sympathy  and  love  of  nature." 
—  The  Mail  and  Express. 

"  A  book  of  strolling,  a  book  of  nature,  a  book  of  humble  peasant  life 
intermingled  with  the  chance  experiences  of  the  narrator."  —  The  Worcester 

Spy.  

THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

QQ  FIFTH   AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 


The  Isle  of  the  Shamrock 

By  Clifton  Johnson 

Author  of  "Among  English  Hedgerows,"  **  Along  French  Byways,"  etc. 
Fully  Illustrated.      Crown  8vo.      Gilt  top.      Boxed,     $2.00  net 


"One  of  the  most  informing  books  about  Ireland  and  the  conditions 
of  the  Irish  folk  in  the  country  and  small  towns  that  has  been  pub- 
lished in  a  long  time. ' '  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 
**  Deserves  to  be  read  and  remembered." 

—  Louisville  Courier-Journal. 
**For  more  kindly  appreciation  no  people  could  ask." 

—  Chicago  Tribune, 

**  A  most  interesting  book,  full  of  sketches  and  anecdotes." 

—  London  Daily  News. 


Don   Quixote 

By  Miguel  De  Cervantes 

Edited  by  Clifton  Johnson 
For  School  and  Home  Reading 

With  Ten  Illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.     Cloth.   i2mo.   75  cents 


*'  An  admirable  piece  of  editing  has  been  done  by  Clifton  Johnson. 
He  has  omitted  the  obnoxious  portions  and  many  of  the  unpleasant 
details  which  made  the  original  objectionable.  The  result  is  a  pleas- 
ant, readable  story,  in  every  way  wholesome  and  attractive." 

—  The  Chautauquan, 

The  Macmillan  Company 
66  Fifth  Avenue,       -       -       -       New  York 


DUE  DATE 

n»n"^ 

auG  {)■:] 

388 

201-6503 

Printed         ^ 
in  USA 

941.4 


J654 


JAH  2  1  1953 


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